


The Devil's Playthings

by vanceypants



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Father/Son Incest, Frottage, Gang Rape, Hand Jobs, Incest, Intersex, M/M, Molestation, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Poor Life Choices, Sibling Incest, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Underage Rape/Non-con, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Sex, cultish family, nonbinary trans feminine character rather who has yet to come to terms with her gender, ritualistic normalized rape, the rich are obscene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanceypants/pseuds/vanceypants
Summary: OR Godhead's 21st Birthday BashOn the night before his twenty first birthday, Godhead found his first grey hair.  Perhaps that should have been his first sign that the next four days of familial celebration would bring new highs and old lows back into the spotlight.A small snapshot of a typical family celebration in the Idolodulia family home.  The inappropriate desires of the family patriarch.  The confused attempts at emotional disconnect by the heir.  The neglected twin trying to reintegrate with their siblings, while trying to comprehend their own identity in the wake of reopened trauma.  The adopted teen dissecting his own comfort, as though making himself small can help his siblings grow.  The disabled youngest, doomed to a world no bigger than his wheelchair and his father's love.  Throughout it all, mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, and staff members alike take as they please.  But at least the siblings have each other throughout it all.  Family, truly, is the only bond one can depend on in this world.
Relationships: Archelaus/Christopher, Archelaus/Godhead, Godhead/Christopher, Godhead/Luci, Godhead/Moses, Godhead/Moses/Luci, Luci/Christopher, Moses/Christopher
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Idol Hands





	1. The Heir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sedusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sedusa/gifts).



> It's very hard to condense any sort of small summary or explanation for these concepts or these characters. These characters are a joint effort between myself and Sedusa. We've been building this world for several years now, and while I've written small AUs featuring some of the characters, this is the first longer piece I've done that features them in their actual canonical context. It would not exist if not for Sedusa. He was instrumental in not only co-creating the characters and the world in the first place, but in supporting me throughout writing this piece in particular.
> 
> This work has STRONG themes of incest (both consensual and non), rape, abuse, and long term trauma. There are relationships between underage characters and adults, with heavy implications of younger child sexual abuse discussed throughout. The best way I can describe some of the later scenes of rape is almost ritualistic and heavily normalized--this family has a long history of commodifying their children. And, in particular with Moses, there are slurs used specifically in regards to him. I tried to warn for what I could in tags, but if I missed anything, I absolutely apologize now. 
> 
> There is a binary trans man (well, man as in a teen boy) character in this, as well as a nonbinary trans woman character who is still exploring her gender and pronoun expression. Genitalia mentions use cunt/clit terminology for the male character and cock for the female character. 
> 
> Let's see. I tried to make this work as beginner-friendly as I could, and I do think that I explain as well as I can throughout the chapters exactly what's going on, but a lot of this family really is just a bizarre experience that I think you just need to suspend your disbelief regarding and dive into. I truly greatly appreciate anyone who gives this work a chance. Thank you for your time and, with that all out of the way, here's the story.

On the night before his twenty first birthday, Godhead found his first grey hair.

Standing barefoot in the bathroom, having scrubbed his face and brushed his teeth, he stared into his own crystalline eyes for a few trepid seconds, before daring to gaze up at his scalp again.

The texture was just as smooth as the rest of the black hairs on his head, soft with his routine of products and expensive combs, but the silver tone was stark, contrasting almost magnificently.

He considered plucking it, but recalled the words of one of his former nannies. Pulling them made more grow in their place, right? No, that was almost certainly not scientifically accurate.

He couldn’t bring himself to test it all the same.

Taking a moment to fold his robe more snuggly around himself, he tilted his head to the side, as though hoping the change in lighting would prove it a mirage. The grey tone glittered back at him defiantly.

Unpleasant.

“We need to go over the party expectations for tomorrow.”

His father’s voice oozed through the cracks surrounding the door. Godhead’s hands gripped tighter at his robe, keeping it clasped shut, every limb locked into perfect stillness as his eyes swiveled from his own reflection to the turning doorknob.

Godhead had always thought that once he surpassed 6 feet in height that nothing could ever intimidate him again. But his father towered above him all the same, even in his silk pajamas and periwinkle slippers. He had a pencil tucked behind his ear. Clearly, he must have just returned from his study. Last minute plans, final revisions to entertainment agendas.

Briefly, Godhead wondered why he wanted to go over them with him and not Moses. Moses certainly held more sway with the staff, with the actual logistics of preparations, snacks and decor and layouts, than Godhead did.

But he understood his father’s propensity for ill conceived excuses all too well to linger on the consideration long.

Godhead dared not take a step back, even as he sucked in one last breath of his own space, before it could be violated by Archelaus’ presence.

His father moved towards him, forehead creasing in mild annoyance. “You’re still primping in here.” It wasn’t a question, but rather an irritated statement.

“I have my routines, father,” Godhead said, the appropriate level of dull and bored and petulantly annoyed. He had his role to play and, perhaps, if he played it just right, he could slip out of here, back to his room, and sleep away his anxieties about his birthday and his hair color and his father’s putrid cologne.

“I suppose it is best that you keep up appearances for tomorrow.” His father looked him over briefly, then moved around him. Godhead remained still, standing before the mirror, as his father slid in behind him. “You’ll want to display your best assets for the party.”

“Yes.” The agreement was wary, stiff, uncomfortable. He reached out, placing his hands against the countertop for the support he knew he wouldn’t properly absorb from it. The floor felt cold against his soles.

He watched his father’s lips twitch from the reflection, then turn into a smile. “I can’t believe I have a son who’s twenty one years old.”

Two of them, Godhead almost pointed out. He had two of them. 

But bringing up The Spare was grounds for terminating any chances for any additional birthdays. The hollowness in his chest was as familiar as the knot in his stomach. He reminded himself not to tap his fingers against the counter, to keep every movement still. Immaculate.

Perfect.

This was the role he’d been bred for. He wasn’t going to let his father tip him off balance tonight. 

“What’s this?”

One of his father’s hands grasped at his neck, not squeezing, but rather pushing against him, against his Adam's apple, until Godhead had no choice but to stagger backwards. His back pressed into his father’s frame, as his father’s fingernails grazed over his flesh. He wasn’t choking him, but the fact that he could so easily increase the pressure wasn’t lost on either of them.

His other hand stroked through Godhead’s hair, combing the strands about into a sloppy mess, before he grasped at the singular grey hair.

Godhead realized he was holding his breath again. He forced himself to exhale, as his father lightly twirled the hair about.

Archelaus laughed, the feeling of his breath against the top of his head hot and clammy. Godhead tensed his hold against the marble counter.

“Greying already. What do you have to be so stressed about, Christian?”

The condescension left welts underneath his skin. He wanted to press at them, to pop them, to feel them fester and rot. He swallowed, and felt the way his own throat rolled against his father’s palm with the action.

“Well?”

“I’m not stressed,” Godhead said softly. Acid licked the insides of his esophagus. “It must be some sort of genetic quirk.”

He waited for his father to squeeze, to choke, to ruin.

Instead, he laughed again.

“You’re right.” His hand finally moved away from Godhead’s throat, though his body remained pressed against his back. “I started to grey younger even than you. Sixteen, I believe. Or perhaps seventeen. Adolescence all seems to run together when I try to think on it.” He ruffled Godhead’s hair, playfully this time, static causing strands to stick upright, to cling to his palm before he drew his touch away. “You take after your father.”

Godhead gnashed his teeth together, a dam to hold back the acid reflux. 

There was some truth there, beyond the similarities in their appearance. After all, he’d shed his name for this title, albeit prematurely, as was his birthright. His father was the reigning Godhead, as he’d inherited it upon the death of his father, and all the way down the line.

And so too would he be the same. But it had been easier, upon being chosen over his twin, to make himself comfortable with the weight of the title. And so Christian had been shredded to bits and Godhead remained.

At least in his own mind, and in the polite vocalizations of his siblings (those who were still deemed worthy of being spoken about, anyway).

It did make correspondence surreal at the parties, of course, when Archelaus would be addressed as The Godhead, and he, the heir, had to pretend his heart didn’t immediately jump in recognition at that which properly belonged to himself.

Then again, everything about the parties was surreal, wasn’t it?

He’d had 21 years to learn how to deal with that feeling, and still couldn’t figure out how to cope.

Strange, how that worked.

Whatever the case, he certainly carried several traits from his father. Similar hairlines, jawlines, cheekbones. Pointed. Sharp. His father’s eyes were colder in place of Godhead’s spite, but both sparkled blue, even if the shape of Godhead’s eyes took more after his mother’s than Archelaus’.

And he had his intellect. A degree in Philosophy already under his belt, as he worked towards his master’s, Godhead devoured books, culture, language. Oh, especially language. His bitter mother had done little to aid in his acquisition of Japanese, but he’d found himself fluent by age 8 all the same. Spanish proved simpler, the rest of the Romance languages falling in place afterwards. He’d studied abroad in Saint Petersburg for a year, staying with distant family.

He’d thought of his father there more than he cared to, the strange Slavic (if American born) man who’d adopted a Greek name, destined to survive to rule a family with a wholly manufactured surname. Godhead knew little about his father, save for what he shared in the family journals he’d grown up studying. 

Long evenings had been spent in his father’s study, the two of them in silence together, reading--his father pouring over scientific journals or family correspondences, while Godhead interpreted the handwritten calligraphy of his father’s childhood diaries, a strange mix of whimsical and clinical. It helped him learn how to rule, to know how his father had been shaped by his own upbringing, after all.

He thought to his own growing collection of tomes, of his own child someday going over them. Would his child, his own heir, find him as incomprehensible and cold and cruel as Godhead found his own father?

It would do him little good to worry about that. Children weren’t created to be cherished, but rather to keep the family running smoothly. To follow the rules, their peculiar little laws. To entertain, to barter, to be raised into cogs.

To, in some cases, rule. But mostly to serve.

His father’s hands were on his hips, caressing the satin of his robe. Godhead’s introspection crumbled, kinetic sand brought out from the water which had once kept it so whole. 

“This is nice,” Archelaus mused. He pinched the fabric, testing the thinness. “Is it new?”

“Yes. Imported,” Godhead found himself trailing off, forgetting where he’d had it shipped from. His father’s hands were heavy, moving from his hips to rest against his stomach. He pulled Godhead back, hips grinding against the small of his back, his mouth resting atop his head.

“I see,” He murmured against his hair. “It makes you look so grown.”

“Well, I am a man now.”

“A man,” Archelaus pursed his lips against him. It wasn’t quite a kiss. His scalp burned. “I really have grown so old, haven’t I? To think I raised a man.”

Godhead shivered. His hands pulled away from the counter, tugging at the already closed robe as though to ensure it stayed shut. 

His father hadn’t bedded him since he was thirteen.

...that had been a birthday celebration as well, hadn’t it?

“Just let me get a look at you,” His father said huskily. His hands moved as though in slow motion, taking the silky ribbon holding the robe together and pulling it loose in one long pull.

His hands spider-crawled upward, taking Godhead’s wrists and peeling them, one after the other, away from the darker trim that he was clutching shut.

Thirteen. He’d been thirteen. Godhead had only been calling himself that name, that title, in private, to himself, for a year at that point, though of course he’d been in training for over half a decade by then. He was barely becoming himself.

And it had hurt, as it always had, but what he’d remembered most about it was being angry. So incredibly angry. He’d already suffered the injustice of his birthday party, the hands and attention of his uncles and aunts. And his father had just insisted on reminding him that his body was not his own. None of this, none of any of this, was his own.

And he’d been angry. 

He hadn’t been allowed that year to socialize with any of his cousins, between the brutalities and indignities. The years before, they had been peers, comrades in quiet revolution against the adults who wanted so to ruin them. Perhaps they could have their bodies, but not their spirits. And between the tortures, there was always cake (which Godhead didn’t care for) and dancing (which Godhead did care for, but dared not go too hard lest he need his inhaler) and gentle reminders of humanity, of decency, of love.

But that was for twelve year old Christian.

And thirteen year old _Godhead_ was a different being entirely. They’d looked at him instead with fright, respect, resentment. 

They’d looked at him the way everyone else looked at his father.

Like a ruler.

Like a tyrant.

Like a proper Godhead.

He’d almost disposed of the name there, but then his father had decided to break him in, to treat him as a child when all his cousins had treated him as a traitorous adult. And he’d been angry. Rigid, stiff, staring up into his father’s blue eyes until his father’s expression had shifted from amusement to irritation, frustration, exhaustion, his thrusts fast and hard and angry, an anger nearly equal to Godhead’s own.

He’d finished, but unlike the other times, he hadn’t bothered to clean him up. “If you’re so mature now,” He’d spat, “You can tend to yourself.”

It was, perhaps, the kindest gift his father had ever provided on a birthday.

Whatever the case, that was the last time his father had claimed him. He’d waited in the days, weeks, months, years after, for a caress, a kiss, a desperate fuck, but none came. Sometimes it struck him as odd--after all, he knew well that his father’s affections hadn’t faded for his younger brother, though he was now sixteen, far past the point Godhead had aged out of his father’s lust--but it had seemed unwise to question it.

Now he stood here, grey in his hair, on the cusp of his 21st birthday, with Archelaus opening his bathrobe as if he were the present and his father were the one celebrating.

That seemed more accurate, given everything else in their family. He’d been made for his father’s whims.

Godhead cursed himself for enjoying the satin against his skin so much in the first place, for choosing tonight to feel safe enough to wear it with nothing underneath. His arms slipped out of the sleeves, his father pulling the robe away from him completely. 

Standing nude in front of the mirror, Godhead closed his eyes tightly for several long moments, simply trying to remember how to breathe. His gaze finally refocused, lashes fluttering, as he stared ahead. His own slender body reflected back at him, nipples pink against his pale chest, stomach concave, cock flaccid. He looked, he thought, faintly effeminate, the sharpness of his face contrasting with an underdeveloped body, minimal muscle, supple milky skin. 

His hands didn’t know what to do with themselves and fluttered for just a moment, before his father grasped them. His touch was sharp, punishing, as he forced Godhead’s arms down to his sides.

“I’ve told you not to do that,” He scolded. His father stooped slightly, the outline of his crotch brushing against Godhead’s ass, his face resting against his shoulder now rather than the top of his head. His father turned his face to the side, and kissed the edge of Godhead’s jawline, where it met the slope of his neck. Strong hands squeezed his own, then finally released them.

Archelaus didn’t touch him immediately after, keeping his lips pressed against him, letting his eyes wander and viewing Godhead through the reflection in the same way that Godhead watched him back. His eyes lingered here and there, taking in the frigid effects of the room on his nipples, admiring the shapeliness of his thighs, staring shamelessly at his limp cock. Godhead’s minimal body hair reflected even here, even in the evidence of his masculinity, minimal black hairs carefully groomed into compliance and framing the shape of him.

“You’ve grown beautifully, Christian.”

Godhead dared not squirm, lest he press back against his father even further. His hands remained still at his side, his lungs shriveling inward in that pained way that used to predate an attack.

He hadn’t needed his inhaler in years. He refused to degrade in that way tonight. It was bad enough to fall back into this habit, this trap.

“I know you want to hate me. I’ve entertained your delusions of loathing all these years, like the caring father I am.” He placed one hand against Godhead’s throat again. This time, his grip was tighter, still not enough to cut off his oxygen supply completely, but enough to leave his knees weak. Thrillingly horrific. His other hand pressed against Godhead’s chest, and he realized he was feeling the flutter of his heart through the thin barriers of skin and bone. “But I am your father, Christian. I made you. Everything you are, everything you have, all of you belongs to me.”

His finger outlined Godhead’s nipple slowly as he spoke. Godhead bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste metal on his tongue.

“You understand that, don’t you?”

Unclenching his teeth, he offered a shake of his head. “No.”

“No?” He pinched his nipple, not sharply, but enough to make Godhead’s body jerk against him. “What do you mean no?”

“I don’t belong to you. I’m-”

“I made you, for me. For this family, yes,” He nuzzled upward, lips against the outer shell of Godhead’s ear. He nibbled the lobe, and the sticky film of his saliva remained glued to his skin. “But I am a selfish man. You, your perfect, brittle body, you were made to satisfy me.”

His hand moved to the other nipple, rubbing it with his thumb. He was sucking on his earlobe again, the sound wet and smacking. Godhead tried to pull away, but his teeth kept him in place. He dared not pull too hard, lest he rip apart completely.

“You know it, too. I feel it.”

Sweat dotted Godhead’s forehead. He could feel his father, hard, within his pants. Rutting against him, grinding and caressing him. His muscles clenched tight, as though he could do anything to evade this.

“But I’m not unreasonable.” Archelaus dropped his hand from his nipple, giving one sharp squeeze to Godhead’s throat at the same time, before loosening that grip. The other hand trickled downward, pressing against soft skin and the non-existent muscle underneath, until he was beneath his belly button, softly outlining his pelvic bone with his fingertips. 

Everything was so sharp, yet so delicate. He was certain he would shatter.

“It is, after all, your birthday weekend, isn’t it, Christian?” 

Godhead couldn’t answer, though thankfully this question seemed to truly be rhetorical, or at the very least obvious enough that his father wasn’t demanding speech. The lines in his father’s forehead had smoothed, his expression somehow more youthful than before, buoyant.

His hand took Godhead’s cock into his palm, and he squeezed him, slowly, mesmerized.

The feeling was warm, familiar, painful in all the ways that had nothing to do with physical hurt. Godhead couldn’t look away, as his father stroked his thumb over the tip of him. He felt himself begin to stir, an ache in his gut, a throb to his groin. 

“It’s your birthday. And daddy’s going to make you feel really, really good, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t called him sweetheart since he was a child. The acid splashed about in his throat, warmed from the external touch of his father’s grasp against him.

He couldn’t survive this. He’d barely survived the shaky memories of his childhood. He couldn’t repeat this again.

But his pitiful body remained still, as his father moved his grip up to the base, another slow squeeze, then tugged down to the tip.

He remained there, teasing the head, as Godhead’s cock began to spring to alertness, to arousal, despite how much he tried to will himself to remain soft. He dug his feet into the ground and tried to count the breaths that could barely fit down his throat.

His father breathed against him as he touched him, each feeling violating him, squirming into his pores. Godhead wanted to close his eyes again, the urge to hide away stronger than the urge to fight.

What sort of leader would that make him, he thought. He couldn’t even fight his father on this. How could he possibly be expected to properly overthrow him?

Every Godhead before him had overcome the tyranny of their own patriarch, in order to rule for themselves. So too would that be true of himself. 

Except instead of figuring out ways to stab Archelaus in the chest, to watch the way the blood would fill his mouth as he gurgled for final words he was too wounded to communicate, Godhead was hard and shivering in his touch.

Despite himself, he glanced down. Stared at his own erection, the darkened hue of the head, the delicacy of every inch. It filled his father’s hand as though it had been built for this. His father’s fingers flexed against him again, and he quickly looked away, unseeing but feeling every moment just as vividly all the same.

The sound of his flesh being tugged and touched chipped away at him piece by piece. He groaned softly, and his father squeezed his neck in time with the massage to cock.

Even the subtle choking was pleasant in its own way. Godhead didn’t have to look down to know that his cock was leaking precum, and even if he had been unaware, his father stroking his fingers over it, slicking his touch, only to pet him after with renewed speed certainly proved this truth to him. 

His father kissed up and down his neck, against the spaces his hand didn’t occupy, slowly tracing along him. His lips reached his jawline, pattering over him until he was against his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.

Godhead didn’t know when he did so. He wasn’t aware of the action.

But somehow, he found himself turning towards his father, head tilting upward. His father squeezed his throat, stealing his breath, as their lips moved together.

They kissed slowly, Godhead’s lips quivering weakly as he grew dizzy from lack of oxygen, his father’s tongue filling his mouth. It was too large, and yet he found himself stretching himself to try to accommodate, to accept him.

He didn’t want to kiss his father. But he didn’t want to push him away either.

His father continued to jerk him off. The last day of his twentieth year, and here he was, tongue-kissing his father, with his cock being steadily molested. He moaned into his father’s mouth and finally granted himself permission to close his eyes again.

It felt less like hiding, and more like giving into his basest desires.

His father continued to grind against his ass, the feeling of his hardness terrifying and thrilling all at once. The kiss broke, fingers loosening around his throat, and Godhead sucked in a startled breath. His eyes fluttered opened, looking up at the smirking face of the man who’d raised him, who’d broken him down and rebuilt every piece into the efficient ruler he was destined to become.

Or, perhaps, the desperate cumslut he was truly fated to be.

Godhead cried out as he came, hips pitifully grinding towards his father’s hand with every rolling moment of pleasure. Nausea continued to burn within him, yet it did nothing to diminish his arousal, his need, his pleasure.

“There’s my good boy,” Archelaus mocked.

Godhead hated the way he loved it.

And he hated it all the more when his father pushed on his shoulder blades, forcing him to bend forward. His elbows rested against the sink, head bowed, eyes shyly peeking up at himself. His face was pink and vulnerable, eyes wider than normal, hair sticking to his forehead in little clusters of sweat.

His father sighed as he unzipped his pants. He couldn’t see him, only listening as Archelaus drew his cock out.

He tensed, waiting for him to fuck him. Certainly relaxing would have made it easier, but he couldn’t. Giving into the handjob and the kisses was one thing.

Reverting back to being his father’s cocksleeve was another altogether. Godhead was a man now. He was a man, he was in control of his body now, at least when the parties weren’t in effect. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to do this to him again.

His father squeezed his ass in both hands, and Godhead squeaked despite himself, terrified. It made Archelaus laugh.

“Just relax,” He said. “Just let me admire you.”

In the end, he didn’t fuck him.

His hands manipulated him, spreading his thighs apart, then groping his ass again. And then he moved forth, another grunt, before his cock was pressed flush against his ass, underside of his length nestled against him.

He began to rub against him, grinding up and down against his ass, not penetrative, but rather savoring the friction of his skin against him.

Godhead glanced in the mirror, taking in the way his father’s face contorted in concentration. He felt the tickling urge in the back of his throat, beneath the nausea, to giggle.

He managed to suppress it.

His father continued to rut against his ass, even as his hands began to wander again. Pinching Godhead’s nipples. Caressing his thighs. Combing through his hair. Flexing around his now-flaccid cock, too sensitive, though he swallowed the urge to hiss. Touching everywhere, lingering nowhere too long, just enough to really capture him in palmfuls of contact.

Godhead felt him grow more frantic, listened to his breathing grow more ragged, and then felt him as he came, spilling against his ass and the small of his back. Sticky. Dirty. Ruined, in a way perhaps more intimately degrading than simply being raped.

His father spun him around so quickly that Godhead barely had a chance to reflect on it, on the urge to jump in the shower. He kissed him again, sucking on Godhead’s bottom lip, forcing his tongue against his own. Both hands took Godhead’s neck as he did so, squeezing sharply. Godhead rose onto his toes in response, teetering there, as his father bit his lip, forcing his mouth open all the wider, then returned to mouthfucking him with his tongue.

He finally pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose playfully against Godhead’s. “Oh Christian,” He cooed, as he continued to choke him. Godhead’s lungs ached, his eyes burning, as his father stared into them. “Maybe I’ll end you now, before the festivities. Would that make it easier for you? Take the pressure off? There’s a part of you that wants that, isn’t there? That just wants daddy to take care of everything and snuff you out?”

Godhead tried to shake his head. His tongue lulled from his mouth, his legs going weak, his hands pitifully clutching at his father’s wrists.

His cock throbbed once, pathetic as the rest of him. His father laughed again.

And then he dropped him. Godhead sank to his knees, coughing and rubbing his neck. His gaze briefly fixated on his father’s cock, still exposed from his pajama pants, looking away as Archelaus casually reached down and tucked himself back into his clothing.

“Clean yourself up,” Archelaus said after a moment of Godhead’s coughing and gasping. He reached down, patting Godhead’s head. “I have another gift for you, and I’d rather present it to you before the party.”

Godhead coughed once more, even as he forced a nod. “Yes, father.”

His hands smoothed his hair before he was able to rise to his feet, but he was dismayed to find it still out of place when he looked in the mirror, the single grey hair bobbing playfully at him. 

He took a hold of it, yanking it from his scalp, dropping it into the sink.

His father remained in the bathroom, the back of Godhead’s neck hot with the discomfort of being watched, as he made his way to the tub. He warmed the water, grabbing a washcloth, then began to step into the tub.

“Here,” Archelaus swooped in, taking the cloth, wetting it under the warm water, and turning Godhead towards the wall. Godhead grimaced, but placed his palms obediently against the shower wall. He felt the washcloth move over his back, firm and efficient, circular motions cleaning away his father’s cum.

The cleaning was more thorough against his ass. Godhead shifted back and forth on his feet, the water roaring from the faucet, his father dropping the washcloth after a few moments, petting his skin directly.

Godhead rested his forehead against the shower wall, closing his eyes. “I believe I’m clean enough now, father.”

“I think you’re right.” His finger prodded between his cheeks, and Godhead jerked forward as he pressed firmly against him, the tip of his finger slipping inside. He clenched tight, and Archelaus laughed. “Oh stop that. You shouldn’t be so tense before a party, Christian, you’ll cause someone to tear you at this rate.”

He pulled his hand away all the same, giving his ass a swat, water droplets scattering away from his skin as Godhead yelped. This earned another laugh. Archelaus turned off the water, walking away just long enough to retrieve a towel. He guided Godhead away from the wall.

Godhead numbly lifted his arms to allow his father to wrap the towel around him. The fluff of it was momentarily pleasant, but he knew it would mat before long, that the fibers would irritate. He glanced at his discarded robe and considered asking to wear it instead, but his father had a grip on his wrist, already pulling him from the bathroom.

Godhead stared ahead, one hand limply clutching at the towel to ensure it wouldn’t fall away from him. The fact he was wandering the halls in just a towel was embarrassing enough, and he didn’t care to think about his siblings waking in the night to see him like this.

Not that he expected Moses or Christopher to be getting much sleep anyway, not on the eve of a major family party. And they’d certainly see more of him the next day than the sight of him in a towel would reveal.

But that was in the context of familial obligations. It was different, to expose himself in this sort of way in the privacy of their halls.

Nevermind the things he and Moses willingly did behind closed doors. That, too, was different.

He didn’t want to think about any of that now at any rate. Not with his father pulling him down the hall. It seemed they were going towards Godhead’s bedroom then. What surprise had his father tucked away for him there?

Of course.

He was just going to fuck him, wasn’t he? His father liked spectacles and games. He wanted him to think it was just a handjob and a non-penetrative animalistic hump. No, he was going to fuck him in his own bed, to make sure he’d have to lay in the filth of it afterwards all night, restless and violated and ashamed.

As if he didn’t feel all of those things every night on his own as it is.

His father stood before Godhead’s bedroom door, a giddy shiver going over him. “You’re going to love this,” He said, so soft and pure that for a moment Godhead was genuinely caught off guard.

He heard the whimpering before the door properly opened.

They’d been six when they’d been separated. Six, and Godhead had been sick the day he’d been taken away. Which hadn’t been anything particularly new, he’d always been sick as a child. A runny nose at best, too weak to leave his bed at worse. The pain had been ever present, an ache within his bones, nausea in his gut, breathless and uncomfortable and feverish.

His twin had been so bright-eyed and rosy cheeked in comparison to his own pallor, his own clammy, dull-eyed expressions rarely alight.

But Lu had always found a way to make him smile, even on the nights he’d lay agonized and insomniatic, hooked up to monitors and oxygen tanks.

If Godhead had been older, he’d have pieced together purely through the patterns of cruelty in their families, through the innocence unable to be properly melded into cold efficiency radiating off of him, through the symbolic nature of his very name that his twin would be the one tossed away.

His given name was Lucifer, after all. Of course he’d have to be cast from heaven.

It seemed a strange role to cast of this household, to label it as the almighty great beyond, the epitome of holy goodness.

But Godhead was atheist enough not to care to question the metaphor of it too deeply.

What he did know intimately was that for six years, he’d been half of a pair. Two parts of one whole, with their own language and their own touches and their own love. Love. The kind of love only a child could have for someone who’d been formed together in the same womb. They were of the same material, no matter how much brighter Luci might have laughed in comparison. Godhead didn’t doubt, logically, that he’d fit the role better for this namesake, for this prestige, for this seat of power he was set to inherit.

But banishing Luci into the basement on his own, keeping him from the sun and the staff and the family and Godhead, his brother, his twin, his other half…

All this family created was cruelty and torment. But this was another level altogether.

But spares were to be kept away for safekeeping.

And so it was, when Godhead was let into his room and saw him kneeling on his bed, rather than relief or excitement or confusion or elation, his initial sensation was raw fear.

Fear.

Because if the spare was brought back upstairs, that surely meant something needed replacing.

The shame of his own terror was overpowering, perhaps more than his father’s hands upon him had been earlier. 

Luci was thin, bordering emaciated. Had he been starved in the basement? Godhead had only seen him once since he was taken away, sneaking down when he was fourteen. He’d been thinner then, he thought, stooped uncomfortably in the dark of the basement, behind a caged door, his wrists chained, his clothes torn but clean against him. Someone clearly had laundered them recently. Godhead’s hand had trembled around his flashlight as he searched for a key to free him, to touch him, and he’d forgotten to speak.

He hadn’t gotten out a single word, even while Luci had rasped his name. “Christian?” So quiet, but somehow enough to alert staff to Godhead’s arrival.

He’d been punished thoroughly for it, but not nearly hard enough to shake the strength of his own shame at inaction. 

The shame was here now, in his bedroom, staring at his kneeling twin. Thin, clearly freshly bathed, his skin rubbed red in several patches. The agitations stuck out all the clearer with just how sun-starved his flesh was. His hair was longer than Godhead’s, but just as black--for a moment, Godhead scanned for silver, but found none in his hair--and delicately curled about his face. 

He was naked, save for the ribbons that kept him delicately bound in place. His own blue eyes were bright with fear and confusion, moving from their father to Godhead. 

The terror within them seemed to fade bit by bit, his plush pink lips moving slowly, as though savoring every letter.

“Christian,” He breathed. His voice was raw with lack of use, but his teeth and tongue still recalled how to craft words. How many had he been allowed to communicate with in his captivity? Godhead’s stomach hurt. He wished his father would go away, while at the same time dreading the idea of being left alone in here. “Christian, you...you’ve gotten so big.”

The towel was already beginning to feel uncomfortable against his skin. Archelaus had released his wrist, and Godhead wrapped both arms around himself, averting his gaze from his twin’s naked form for all of two seconds before he felt his eyes drift back towards him. Everything was so familiar, similar to his own shape and features, but softened. The tone of his voice was higher than Godhead’s own, and he longed to pry more words from him.

Was this permanent? Just for the weekend? A joke? He looked towards his father again, as though he’d ever find the nerve to ask any of those questions.

Archelaus simply smiled at him. “I’ll just let you two get reacquainted, shall I?” He placed a warm hand against Godhead’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, son.” He stooped down, kissing Godhead’s frozen lips for several seconds.

Then, finally, the smell of him was pulled away as he walked towards the door. Godhead listened to it, the hinges faintly creaking as it opened then closed behind his father’s retreating form.

Perhaps if he kept his focus there, he could avoid the obvious question of what came next.

One day short of twenty one, and he’d forgotten how to regard his own twin brother. Surely the wisdom of premature greying should have prepared him for this one.

Godhead inhaled, his eyes swiveling to the twin pair of blue eyes which stared back at him.

Luci smiled. “What now?” He asked, just as uncertain as Godhead felt.

“Not a clue.” Godhead couldn’t bring himself to smile back, but something loosened in his stomach, in his tensed shoulders, and he began to step forward. “But, I suppose, since it is our birthday, we should find some way to celebrate.”


	2. The Spare

Christian unraveled Luci ribbon by ribbon, piece by piece, exposing strips of shivering pale skin with every removal. The air nibbled at him, the light burning, and Luci tried to remember what it felt like to exist as a human being.

He couldn’t quite say he was doing a very good job of it. 

But he remembered Christian.

How could he ever forget him?

“You’re shaking,” Christian said softly, as he removed the binding around Luci’s wrists. Luci gently rubbed at them, though truthfully they didn’t ache all too terribly from the action. His brother slipped his fingers under his chin, tilting his face up, their eyes meeting.

Luci wriggled against the bed under the weight of his gaze. Those same blue eyes had always seemed to look straight through him, even when they were children. It was no different now, reunited in this way. Being seen, being so thoroughly devoured in his gaze.

“Are you cold? Or am I terrifying you?”

“I’m not terrified of you,” He said. He wanted to grasp onto him, to wriggle in close, to insist that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that Christian could do to scare him.

This wasn’t at all how he’d imagined their reunion would go. 

Nearly fifteen years in the dark, alone, had given him ample time to pour through every memory he’d built before his banishment. Memories of their cold mother, their sadistic father.

Memories of Christian.

His brother. His sun, his moon, his stars. His everything. Luci let Christian untie his ankles next, realizing as he did so that the last of the ribbons had been stripped from him.

His own nudity had been ignored up until now, but the reality of it rolled through him. His father had yanked him from the basement that morning, and thrown him into the care of staff for the duration of the day. He’d been fed, only to vomit it up, and then fed again after. Food he couldn’t identify, sweet and sticky, a stark contrast to the dull starches he’d been fed in the dark all those years.. He’d been scrubbed once, twice, three times, in scalding water that had made him weep. Everything had been too overheated, too overstimulating, too real.

And he’d loved it. Because it had meant he truly was alive. He was alive, and out of the basement.

But it had been terrifying all the same.

Terrifying enough that it didn’t strike him as so odd that he wasn’t given any clothing throughout. Paraded around, primped and fussed over and nude. It was only in the last two hours that his father had retrieved him again. He’d personally wrapped the ribbons around him, bound his ankles and his wrists, then taken him to Christian’s room, tossed over his shoulder.

It still smelled the same, though the furniture had matured. He’d been arranged, kneeling, upon the mattress. And his father had smiled.

“Happy birthday, Lucifer,” He’d murmured. His lips had pressed against his forehead, lingering for just a moment.

Luci was too lonely to hate himself for loving the sensation. For craving the affection. Perhaps his father had locked him away, but it was certainly for the good of the family. And it was okay. It was okay, because he was upstairs now. Back in the light. Back in the home.

Back with his twin.

Christian rubbed his hands over Luci’s shoulders. It was a strange gesture that he only realized after was an effort to get him to stop shaking, to warm him up. Luci couldn’t say he particularly cared what the intention was, why he was touching him, as long as he didn’t stop.

“Perhaps you should be. I’ve changed since we last saw each other.”

Luci’s gaze moved over him. He’d certainly gotten taller. Sharper. A narrowed glint to eyes which had always sat a little too seriously upon his face. 

“You’re bigger,” He finally said. “But you look just the…”

The towel wrapped around Christian’s body barely hung onto him. Luci’s breath caught, and he averted his eyes.

His brother’s near nudity once again made him aware of his own. He was naked. Naked in his brother’s bed.

And it wasn’t the first time. They’d played together as children, often. Mirroring the actions of their older relatives, but with tenderness instead of clinical cruelty. Christian would kiss him all over, and his lips would tickle.

Luci felt faint. He licked his lips.

“...you look just the same,” He finally finished. 

Christian seemed undaunted by his nudity. His frown deepened, one hand moving to caress Luci’s cheek.

He’d known such little touch in the basement. Certainly staff would come from time to time to wash him down. And, at least for the first few years, his father would occasionally steal away and break him upon his cock, roughly ride his body down against every inch of himself as Luci cried and tried to unlock the right pattern of words to convince him to let him come back upstairs, to let him be part of the family again.

Maybe if he felt good enough, maybe if he cried well enough, maybe if he just said the right things, he could be one of them again.

It had never worked. So why now?

“You look...” Christian paused. “You look sad.”

Sad?

Luci shook his head. “I’m not sad.” How could he think he was sad? How could he be sad? He was back upstairs. He was back with his brother. With his beloved Christian. All the memories he’d had to entertain himself, all the fantasies he’d invented over the years.

All the things he’d wanted to say, and he couldn’t remember a single one, but it seemed important, terribly important, for his brother to know that no, of course he wasn’t sad. He could never be sad, as long as he wasn’t put in the dark again. As long as he wasn’t kept alone again.

Anything. Anything but that.

“I missed you,” Luci blurted. “I...you...I thought I’d never-”

His thumb pressed against Luci’s lips. Christian leaned forward, his forehead pressing against his twin’s.

“I know.”

And even though he didn’t have experience of it, hadn’t been stored away like a dirty secret, he didn’t doubt for a moment that Christian meant it.

He knew.

Of course he knew.

Because they knew. They knew each other. They belonged to each other.

Luci’s eyes were swollen with tears, as he wrapped his arms around his brother. His touch knocked the towel loose from his body, the tangle of their flesh pure and unencumbered. Christian crashed into him, falling down against him, Luci laying flat against his back, with his twin on top of him.

Christian drew his face back, looking down at him. His expression remained as serious as ever.

Luci traced his fingers up and down his spine.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Luci giggled. “You still sound the same.”

Each notch of vertebrae pressed pleasantly against his fingertips. Luci wanted to map all of him, the harsh lines of his body, the stark masculinity of his figure.

He found himself wishing to be tucked soft and feminine under him forever. He hadn’t the words or knowledge to really define it, but he yearned. He yearned to feel safe and small and curvy and loved. He looked into Christian’s eyes, moved his hand away from his back, and cupped his face in both his palms.

Everything he’d ever wanted, before him again. 

“Has it been hard?” He asked, though in truth he wasn’t entirely sure what he was questioning. Hard to be alone?

But Christian hadn’t been alone. Their baby brother must be sixteen now. He wondered if he’d ever been spoken about to him, if Christopher even knew he existed.

He’d held him once. His body had felt so tiny in his arms. Frail. His face had been as serious as Christian’s. 

Were they still so alike? Had they been friends, in Luci’s absence? He hoped so.

And Christian had certainly had Moses’ company. Luci had already been banished when he’d been adopted, though he remembered well the first time he’d been brought to him. The fear on his young face.

Luci must have looked horrendous. Monstrous.

It filled him with great shame to remember it.

Moses’ company was the most frequent of any outside of the staff who’d come every other day with food or to wash him. Moses’ visits weren’t quite monthly--then again, Luci had little concept of time, there in the dark and chains--but enough, trimming his hair and telling him stories and feeding him treats. When he took to bathing Luci, he turned the temperature up on the water and used a gentler touch and though everything was still dark, it was in those moments that he almost felt human.

His hands shook against Christian’s face. He didn’t deserve to touch him. But he couldn’t let go.

“Has what been hard?”

“I don’t know. Everything?”

“Yes.” 

Sometimes he wondered what it was about himself that left him so deficit. Why he hadn’t been enough to keep in the light.

But if being banished meant that Christian could thrive, maybe it had all been worth it.

So it hurt. It hurt to hear otherwise, that he’d suffered instead, in his own ways. “I missed you,” He said again, as though it could even begin to communicate the absolute need within him.

“I know.” Christian sat upright, pulling his body off of Luci’s and sitting beside him on the bed. Luci tried not to look at his body, at the slight musculature of his arms, the thinness of his waist, the heaviness of his cock between his legs.

Luci’s own felt inconsequential. Incorrect. He’d played with it, sometimes, in the dark. On the nights where he’d wonder if he could just will himself to die, how long before his body would be hefted into the light for a burial. It hadn’t exactly made for the most tantalizing of thoughts, but his anxiety and terror was more present than anything else in his life. What else could he occupy himself with in fantasy but more of the same?

He’d thought of them crying over his body, and he’d touch himself more furiously. Until it hurt. Past the point of pleasure. He didn’t think his body was capable of good things on their own.

But looking at Christian made him ache pleasantly, that was for certain.

“Why’d you pull away?”

“Hm?”

“Why’d you...why’d you pull away from me?” Luci sat up, scooting over until his hip pressed against Christian’s. “I missed you. Didn’t you miss me?”

“Of course I did.”

Christian’s hand slipped into Luci’s, as easily as if they’d been built to be within each other all along. Their fingers intertwined, and Luci’s heart started beating even harder. His chest felt too flat and inconsequential, especially with the weight of his heartbeat behind his bones. 

Christian’s other hand brushed through Luci’s hair. “I missed you,” He said softly. “Did you really need me to say it? _Wasn’t it enough to feel it?_ ”

His words slipped out of English, moving into the unused dialect of their shared language. Christian had always loved to play around with words, to create his own grammar and sentence structures. Luci couldn’t remember being taught this language. It had seemed to come from somewhere deeper than simple conlang. Not taught, but absorbed, known intimately before Luci had even fully grasped standard English grammatical structure.

He’d thought he’d forgotten it. But then Christian was speaking it to him again. And Luci fell back into it easily.

“ _It doesn’t hurt to hear._ ”

Christian’s lips turned up at the corners. “I missed you,” He said in English. And then, slipping back, “ _I missed you, Lu._ ”

Moses had brought him a bible, during one of his visits in the basement. It was hard to make out the words in the dark, harder still to comprehend with his limited literacy. But it had been enough to make everything about him feel like a sin. 

Luci wanted to do right by the natural order of the universe, by the stars, by the heavens above, by God herself. 

But, he thought as Christian inched closer until he could feel his breath against his face, he’d light it all aflame and never look back for just one more memory with his dear brother.

“ _Are you going to kiss me?_ ” Luci blurted as the space between their lips dwindled, halving by infinities second by second, but never quite meeting.

Christian pressed his forehead against Luci’s again. “ _Maybe,_ ” He admitted. “ _But it feels so good just to hear your voice._ ”

“ _It’s gotten horribly deep, hasn’t it?_ ”

“ _No. I think it’s lovely._ ” He brushed his nose over Luci’s. “ _Can you believe it’s our birthday?_ ”

“ _No. I mean yes? I mean I don’t know. I don’t even remember what date that is anymore._ ”

Christian drew back, his thumb brushing over Luci’s lips again. His expression was soft, thoughtful, perhaps just a bit sad.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” He said finally, in plain English.

And though he’d warned him, or perhaps promised him, exactly that, Luci still wasn’t prepared for the slow pour of anticipation as Christian tilted in towards him.

They’d kissed as children. Luci was always the Bride, though neither had yet been named Godhead, neither was yet subordinate, Luci had always just assumed that role naturally. Let himself be the willing Bride for Christian’s imposing Godhead. They made forts out of their blankets, which would inevitably be demolished by scolding housekeepers who would banish them to their separate bedrooms.

They always found their way back into bed together in the night all the same. Even on the nights where Christian was too sick to move. Luci always went to him.

Who was there for him in the years after he’d been away? He supposed Moses must have been some care, but there had been years before he’d been adopted, and years still after where he would have needed to adjust surely. 

What had life been like?

Christian’s lips melted against his own and Luci forgot to linger in the melancholy for a little while longer.

Luci’s hands shook, clasping onto his twin’s shoulders, as Christian clasped at his face. His lips fell open, understanding the rules before his mind could comprehend. And he couldn’t help but smile at the taste of toothpaste on his brother’s tongue. He must have been preparing for bed prior to this, cleaning himself up and getting himself presentable for his dreams. It made him happy, to taste him now, to feel him now.

His lashes fluttered shut as Christian eased him back down onto the bed once more, their bodies pressed together. He sucked on his lip, briefly bit it, before he was focusing on tongue again. Luci groaned against his mouth, as one of Christian’s hands slipped down, caressing his neck.

The touch was tender and sweet and familiar, and just as suddenly ticklish, and Luci drew back with a startled giggle at the fluttery sensation. He tilted his head to the side, squishing Christian’s hand between cheek and shoulder in the process, stopping the progress of his touch.

“ _Sorry,_ ” He laughed. “ _It’s…_ ” He paused, trying to think of the word for it. Had they developed a word for it? “Ticklish,” He finally said in English.

Christian drew his hand away, tilting Luci’s chin up and pecking his lips. He smiled against him.

Something told him those smiles were rare these days. Then again, they’d been rare as children too. Christian had always been so much older than he should have been. 

Luci wanted to keep him smiling, no matter what it took. His eyes closed instinctively, as Christian slipped forth and kissed his eyelids, one after the other. When he opened his eyes again, Christian was no longer smiling, though his expression still remained satisfied. Pleased.

Pleased with Luci.

Luci trembled against the bed.

“ _Touch me._ ”

Christian kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, lingering against him, as his hands softly scooped down his chest. He caressed him all over first, before his palms rose, centering against his nipples. He cupped his flat chest, squeezing as though there was anything there to grope.

It made Luci groan up at the ceiling, staring up at it, the stark white paint. It suddenly struck him as immensely pretty, the tiny imperfections in the brushwork. His fingers tangled in Christian’s hair, as Christian began to kiss his neck. The way he sucked drew another giggle, another tilt of his head, before the ticklish sensation melted into a low vibration of pleasure.

Christian bit him, as his thumbs began to move over his nipples. Circling them, then his fingers joined thumbs to pinch them.

Luci had thought often about his own body, beyond the moments where he’d desperately rub at himself just to remind himself of sensation. He’d considered his own parts, all the more as puberty warped them and stretched them and thinned them. He hadn’t seen his mother in years--only once had she visited, and though logically he knew she’d penetrated him with something during that visit, the details were hazy and blacked out--but he’d thought of her hair, soft in all the ways her voice and personality were not. The curvature of her frame, poured perfectly in cocktail dresses and silky gowns.

It had made him feel dirty in a way he couldn’t place, thinking about his mother. He didn’t think he longed for her, and certainly not in the way he longed for Christian (or, in his weaker moments, for his father). But there was something about her body that beckoned, not to fondle but to emulate.

And he thought often of his little brother, how he’d come down one month as Josephine, and then the next month as Moses. “You can ask me whatever you need to,” He’d said softly, insistently.

And certainly Luci had had questions. He hadn’t realized it was the sort of thing you could choose.

But all he’d managed to ask was, “Are you happy?”

Moses’ eyes were always just a little sad, dark and soulful, even as he’d smiled. “Yes.”

“Then I’m happy for you too, little brother.”

In the dark, in his absence, Luci had formulated question after question after question. But it was too tragically silly to present them the next time he came down the stairs, to question his preteen brother on the intricacies of gender and presentation and bodies and longing.

Luci was supposed to have earned a life himself to figure it out on his own. 

He supposed he’d missed the chance now. After all, both his father and Christian had mentioned birthdays. How old were they now?

“ _Christian,_ ” He whined. Christian sucked on his collarbone, squeezing his nipples, then glanced up.

“ _Yes?_ ”

He’d already forgotten what he was going to ask. Luci smiled faintly.

“ _It just feels so good. Please don’t stop._ ”

“ _I don’t think I’d be able to even if I wanted to._ ”

**Stop** had never been a concept drilled into their minds from the very beginning, after all. But oh, Luci couldn’t imagine this ever being too much. This was right, he thought. This was what they’d been made to do. This was why they needed to be separated, because their family wasn’t built on a foundation of love and support. This was too powerful. It was necessary to quell its power before they overthrew everything through the sheer strength of adoration alone.

Christian pressed a final kiss to his throat, before he lowered his mouth to his chest. Luci arched upward, as Christian took his nipple between his lips. He sucked on it softly, rolling his tongue against it, then teased his teeth over it, his serious eyes peering up at him throughout.

Luci combed his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead, and giggled. “ _Christian?_ ”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“ _Do they still call you that?_ ”

Christian gave another bite to his nipple before he answered. “ _Our brothers call me Godhead._ ”

Certainly he understood, logically, that this was Christian’s title to be inherited. It seemed very him, to claim it early.

“ _Is that what you prefer?_ ”

“ _Yes._ ” He ran his tongue slowly over his nipple, then circled it casually. “ _But not from you. You can still call me Christian. In private._ ”

“ _In private,_ ” Luci repeated. He supposed that made sense. He wouldn’t want to be undermined around the others.

“ _Yes. Because here, I’m yours. You can call me anything you’d like, and I’d answer to it, for you._ ”

“ _We were made for each other._ ”

Christian moved to the other nipple, smiling briefly. “That is so corny, Lu,” He said in English once more.

“ _But it’s true!_ ”

“ _I know. But it’s so...you’re just so soft._ ”

Luci felt himself ache between his legs. Certainly not all of him was soft. He moaned softly as his brother continued to focus on his chest.

Christian would pause occasionally, resting his cheek against Luci’s skin. Sometimes nuzzling, but usually holding still. It took him a moment to decode his actions, before Luci realized he was listening to his heartbeat.

He wondered if they were in sync.

“ _I just needed to remind myself that this is real._ ” Christian kissed his chest, then down to his stomach. His tongue briefly darted over his belly button, earning another giggle from Luci. He gazed up at him. “ _Does any of this feel real to you?_ ”

“ _No._ ” He spread his legs, and Christian slipped down off the bed, kneeling before him. He grasped Luci’s legs, pulling him to the edge, legs dangling, toes curling against the ground. “ _Is this your first time? Doing this willingly? Besides when we were children?_ ”

“ _No._ ” Christian kissed along Luci’s inner thigh. “ _Sometimes, with...with our brothers._ ” His face colored as he said it. Luci couldn’t understand. There was nothing shameful about love.

It was a relief, knowing he had connections. “ _Are they good?_ ”

“ _Perverted, asking such things._ ” Christian laughed though. The sound was brief, but bright, and Luci’s chest felt tight and too full. 

Luci sat upright, leaning forward and stooping down just enough to be able to plant his lips against his brother’s. 

“ _Well? Are they?_ ”

“ _Yes._ ” Christian bumped his nose against Luci’s. “ _I’m sure you’ll find that out for yourself soon enough. This house certainly has enough debauchery to go around._ ”

What did it say about them, that their shared language had a word for ‘debauchery’ but not one for ‘ticklish’?

“ _Do you think they’ll like me? I mean, Moses already knows me, but-_ ”

“ _He does?_ ”

“ _Yes. He, ah, he helped the staff tend to me._ ”

“ _Hm._ ” Christian brushed his lips over Luci’s kneecap, then began to kiss upward, over the softness of his thigh, until Luci’s legs were shaking. “ _He never told me._ ”

“ _I probably wasn’t very noteworthy._ ”

“ _He probably didn’t want to make me sad. I’m glad that you were able to have his company, at least. I should have…_ ” He trailed off, then carefully bit his thigh. The feeling of his teeth indenting his skin made Luci nearly howl with how good it felt, the sharpness of teeth contrasting with the softness of lip and tongue.

“ _You did what you had to in order to survive. It’s okay. We’re together now._ ” After all, the one time Christian had come down to him had ended disastrously. He’d heard his punishment through the ceiling, had to fill in the blanks of what atrocities were committed to his twin’s body. The silence, though, that had haunted him worse than the screams.

“ _At any rate, of course they’ll like you. They’ll love you._ ”

“ _Do you love me?_ ”

Christian kissed his hip, then pattered soft kisses along his lower stomach again. The way he moved between his legs caused Luci’s cock to rest against his brother’s chest. The slight friction of it made his breath jolt within him.

Christian glanced up at him, and offered a very small nod. Yes.

Yes.

He loved him.

He loved him!

Luci’s eyes burned, wet and full and blurring with the weight of his own emotion. There had been no doubt, but the confirmation pierced him so sweetly.

“ _Will you make love to me, Christian?_ ”

His breath was soft against his stomach. “ _Obviously._ ”

So why was he standing up?

Christian gestured for him to stay still, as he walked towards the side table beside the bed. Luci watched him, watched him retrieve a small, half-used tube, the edge of it slightly rolled upward. 

“ _What is that?_ ”

“ _I want to fuck you like you’re my lover,_ ” Christian said softly. He placed the tube down on the bed beside Luci. “ _I know you could take me with just spit, I know you can handle the pain, but I want to...I want to touch you. I want to feel you. To savor you._ ” He sank to his knees again, kissing Luci’s bellybutton. “ _It’s peach scented. Georgia peach. Do you remember when you used to speak in that god awful southern accent?_ ”

Luci groaned. “Why would you bring that up?” He whined, then slipped back into their language. “ _I wanted to be a proper lady for you._ ”

“ _It was horrible. You do the worst impressions._ ”

“ _ **You do the worst impressions,**_ ” Luci dropped his own voice deeper, huffier, wrinkling his nose to try to properly get in character to mock his brother.

Christian’s fingers slipped over his sides, skittering about recklessly until Luci was squealing, wriggling and writhing against the bed. He laughed brightly, trying to gasp out for Christian to stop, but forgetting the words in both English and their own tongue.

Christian climbed up the bed, his tickling only stopping once he was kissing the laughter from Luci’s mouth. Luci wrapped his arms around him, looping against him loosely, keeping him close. Kissing.

Like lovers.

He wanted to fuck him like they were lovers.

But why, Luci wanted to ask. What was the significance of that?

Why be lovers, when they were already brothers? What could be a closer, truer bond than that?

“ _I’m going to make sure you’re nice and ready for me,_ ” Christian promised, between sloppy, hungry kisses. His body rolled against Luci, causing Luci’s cock to brush against his skin, and Luci sighed happily. “ _Oh. Unless you’d rather…?_ ”

“ _Rather what?_ ”

“ _Ah...do you, ah, would you like to fuck me instead?_ ”

“ _Not today,_ ” Luci blushed. “ _I wouldn’t know what to do._ ”

“ _I could guide you. But...but you don’t mind?_ ” His voice seemed so timid in that moment. “ _If I...having me inside you?_ ”

“ _How could I ever mind that? I’m yours. It’s your birthday, Christian,_ ” He teased gently.

“ _It’s your birthday too._ ”

“ _Then let’s enjoy each other._ ”

Christian kissed his chin, then slipped back to his knees. His eyes were fixed upon Luci’s cock, Luci watching every subtle change in his expression, the hunger mounting in his eyes, as he sized him up. 

Culminating in Christian ultimately wiping at his own mouth with the back of his hand, a faint hue of red to his face.

“ _Did you just drool?_ ”

“ _No._ ” He lied.

Luci combed his fingers through his hair. “ _And you had the gall to call me perverted._ ”

Christian shook his head a little, as his fingers wrapped around Luci’s length. His hand fit snug around him, the pad of his thumb softly petting the underside of him in small strokes forward and back.

Christian’s hand was, by all accounts, genetically identical to Luci’s own.

So why did it feel so much better being touched by his brother?

Christian licked his lips. The sight was nothing short of poetry, the glisten of saliva against the pink of his pout making Luci quiver even before he opened his mouth and took the head of his cock in. The tip of him sat against Christian’s tongue, and Luci thought of the nights he’d spent trying to teach himself how to pray.

It had felt like this. Like his body had been carved to feel this.

Maybe if he could understand those holy books better, he could better comprehend how sacreligious the worship of his twin truly was. But maybe some truths were meant to be incomprehensible.

Luci grasped at the blankets, and thought of Christian sleeping in them every night. Would they become a familiar staple in his own life now? Would they enjoy the mundane soon enough, simple naps and cuddles? He’d like that, he thought. He’d like very much to grow familiar with the man he’d once shared a womb with.

Christian rolled his tongue against him, his lips tightening. Luci meant to moan his name, but all that came out was strangled and incomprehensible. It seemed to please his brother though, as he slipped his grip down to the base of him, loose, as his lips took more of him inside. 

Luci wanted to fall back against the bed, as Christian moved his hand completely, settling both of them against his hips, taking him fully into his mouth. He felt every twitch of muscle and tongue, the faint promise of teeth surrounding him, never biting, never scraping, but that hint of danger in the midst of so much joy. One wrong move, and Christian could destroy him.

He wouldn’t mind, he thought, his fingers tightening in Christian’s hair. Christian drew back, moaning against his flesh, piercing eyes adoring him. He wouldn’t mind at all, if he shredded him to bits and pieces.

The rhythm was steady and slow, Luci’s cock throbbing throughout. Christian squeezed his hips, tugged him forward, closer to the edge of the bed, closer to his mouth, his tongue painting over him in memorization. Luci could feel the way precum slipped from his cock to his brother’s tastebuds. He hoped he tasted okay.

He wondered what Christian tasted like. Did he still taste the same? He was a man now, not a sickly boy. He felt himself ache with pride and desire.

Christian moved his lips up, focusing on the head, his hand once more moving to stroke him, squeezing and caressing that which wasn’t in his mouth. The suction of his lips was intense, all pressure and heat, and Luci pulled on his hair brutally. Sorry. He needed to say sorry.

But he couldn’t even say Christian’s name, so completely dangling in pure sensation.

His hips raised, grinding against Christian’s face, forcing him back into his mouth. He fucked his lips fully, completely sinking into him, tip of his cock breaching the back of his throat. Christian swallowed around him, tight, tight, so deliciously tight.

Luci managed to unstick his name from the roof of his mouth, crying it out for the room at large as he came. 

He’d gotten himself off a couple times, with his own hand, in the solitude of his captivity. A lonely spare, clawing at himself until his palm was sticky with shame. 

This felt nothing like that. The eruption of his body came from deep in his gut, ricocheting outward in waves. He felt himself expand, every atom stretching out into the universe at large. His borders faded out and became one with Christian’s. Melding, cock and lip and tongue and hips and hands. Christian bobbed against him, greedy, and the sensation was altogether too much and not enough. Luci shivered, overstimulated, as Christian finally drew his lips away, only to begin attacking his cock with his tongue, licking him past the point of cleanliness.

“ _Oh, ohh, Christian, I don’t think I can take anymore,_ ” He whined, falling to his back, gaze briefly on the blinding white of the ceiling, before he draped his forearm over his eyes. Christian squeezed his cock, then trickled his tongue along the underside of him, tracing the vein running alongside his flesh.

“ _You just taste so good,_ ” Christian moaned. 

He must have been painfully aroused himself. Luci swore he could feel a sympathy ache of it, or perhaps it was just his own need battling his body’s exhaustion. 

“ _Just...just kiss me, okay? For a little bit. It’s too much, Chris, I can’t take it._ ”

He thought he’d tell him no. But Christian finally drew his mouth away, though not before placing a small kiss to the tip of him. His body, Luci realized as it pressed against him, was sweaty. He slipped his fingers over Christian’s back, delighting in the droplets of sweat that collected on his digits in the process.

“ _Don’t be gross, Lu._ ” Christian chastised softly, creasing his nose when Luci pulled his fingers away from his back to suck the sweat away. 

“ _Well, you got to taste me, so it’s only fair._ ”

“ _Vile._ ”

He didn’t let the word linger long enough to cause any anxiety, presenting him the promised kisses in low pressure patterns. The hardness of his cock pressed into Luci’s thigh. Perhaps it should have been frightening, imposing, but Luci squealed against Christian’s lips.

“ _Are you really going to fit that inside me?_ ” He grinned.

“ _Yes._ ”

“ _I can’t wait._ ”

“ _I thought you needed me to stop because it was too much._ ”

“ _No, I mean, I did, but this is different. I get to watch you feel good now._ ”

“ _It’s going to feel good for you too._ ”

“ _I know._ ” Luci bit Christian’s bottom lip. He could taste himself against his mouth, as he sucked softly. Christian’s lips opened, and Luci let his tongue cautiously explore him, mirroring Christian’s earlier kissing technique. He hoped he was doing this right. But the worry about doing it wrong was minor. After all, how could he go truly astray, when their bodies were built for each other?

Their lips separated, but their tongues remained against each other for just a moment longer, drawing away at the last possible moment as they both panted for breath.

Luci took his opportunity, squeezing both of Christian’s nipples. He laughed at the way Christian squeaked in surprise, body recoiling as though startled.

“ _Is this how lovers do it?_ ”

“ _Don’t make fun of me,_ ” Christian said, though there was no offense to his voice. His hips gently moved forward, grinding himself against Luci’s thigh. “ _Do you want to be on your back or your stomach?_ ”

“ _For what? When I sleep? I usually sleep on my side._ ”

“ _While I prepare you._ ”

“ _Prepare--oh._ ” Luci covered his face in both hands. “ _Oh gosh, you must think I’m such an idiot._ ”

“ _Not in the slightest._ ”

“ _I, ah, I’d like to watch. To see you. If that’s okay._ ”

“ _Of course. I’ll be careful with you. I promise._ ”

“ _I’m not worried about that._ ”

“ _Well, I am._ ”

Luci watched Christian as he maneuvered about on the bed. He used his strength to push them both towards the middle of the mattress, grasping the peach-scented tube he’d retrieved earlier, then kissing Luci once more. He drew back, taking one of Luci’s legs and propping the ankle upon his shoulder. 

Luci didn’t wait for him to do the same with the other, lifting it and placing it upon him. Christian’s shoulders weren’t particularly broad, but they felt strong like this.

Christian was quiet for a moment, Luci growing all the more aware that he was admiring the view of him, folded against the bed and blushing horribly. Luci offered him a small smile.

“ _Do I-_ ”

“ _You’re beautiful._ ”

Luci wasn’t sure if that was what he’d intended on asking him, whatever had been on his mind drying up and blowing away, replaced instead with pure stupid love.

He heard the cap of the tube open, vision somewhat obscured with the position they were in. Instead, he watched Christian’s face, pinched in concentration. The wet sound of whatever fluid was within the tube was almost disgusting, Luci guessing that Christian was coating his fingers.

His guess proved correct, as a cold, slickened finger found its way along the cleft of his ass. Luci gasped, legs tensing against Christian’s shoulders, back pushing against the mattress. His fingertip rimmed him, outlining the quivering muscle of his entrance. Christian flexed his knuckle, fingertip just slightly penetrating, then retreating. He repeated the tease again, and a third time, until Luci nearly shouted at him to get inside him.

He didn’t, though. Content for the moment just to rub, to tease.

“ _Christian,_ ” Luci breathed, “ _I swear, if you don’t...if you don’t…_ you had better fuck me, or else.” English felt too whiny and lewd for the scene. He should have had the decency to blush at his own vulgarity.

But the thing making him blush instead was his own excitement, cock hardening again, pressed up against his belly with the way he was folded. 

Christian circled his finger against him one more time, before he was moving it inside him. It slipped into him, slow but sure, coated in what Luci could only describe as a cold gel. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was strange, and he found himself with a million questions that he dared not phrase lest he ruin the moment.

Christian’s finger felt so long within him, long and thin and delicate and masterful. Luci exhaled shakily as he pressed into him completely. 

“ _Too much?_ ”

“ _Not enough,_ ” Luci countered with a wink.

Christian pressed his lips against Luci’s leg, turning to the side, and it was only when he felt his lips dotting kisses to him that he realized he was trying to suppress his smile.

His finger drew back, until just the tip was inside, then moved forth once more.

Luci contracted around him, the unreal sensation of being touched so intimately from the inside leaving him struggling to comprehend reality. Twenty four hours ago, he’d been in chains, staring at visions just outside the darkness that he knew. 

And now he was experiencing this, his brother’s finger inside him, the ghost of sensation of his lips all over every inch of him. Even if he was thrown back in the dark afterwards, he’d never shake the memory of how much pleasure his body was capable of feeling.

It seemed an eternity, yet also no time at all, before Christian was drawing his finger out, only to press two digits together, easing both inside him. They stretched once they’d pressed in halfway, prying apart inside him, and Luci grasped at the blankets as though to remind himself there was a world outside of his body.

“ _Your nipples are so pink,_ ” Christian commented. “ _They’re so pretty._ ”

“ _Th...ahh...thank you._ ”

“ _You’re welcome._ ” The fingers moved deeper into him, stretching again, then joining together, stroking inside him in slow, lazy patterns. Luci squirmed against the bed, sweat dotting his forehead, as his brother mapped him out.

Drawing them out, then slipping them back in, then out again, then in. It was a simple pattern, but seemed to steal his breath everytime all the same. Luci barely had time to ache for a kiss before Christian was upon his mouth again, murmuring compliments about his beauty between hearty smacks of their lips. 

The minor adjustments of his wrist, of his touch, seemed random, inconsequential, until he was touching him just right.

Luci hadn’t realized there was a “just right” option until he was there. But once he was there, oh, Luci couldn’t cry out loud enough to assure him that yes, yes, he needed him to keep touching him in that spot.

Christian looked so assured, cocky even, as he thrust his fingers into that same angle, hitting Luci just right. His stomach bundled in on itself, his toes curling in tight.

He’d mocked Christian for drooling earlier, yet here he was doing the same himself.

“ _Don’t stop,_ ” He whined as Christian drew his fingers out again. He could hear him coating his fingers again, but it was taking too long. “ _No, no, don’t stop, I want more. I want more. Christian, please, please, touch me-_ ”

He kissed him, perhaps to silence him, as three fingers worked their way inside him. Luci’s mouth was too wet, he was certain Christian would slip away, slide out of balance, but he kissed him just as certainly all the same.

It felt even better having three fingers touching him there than just two. He shivered down against him, in contrast to just how warm he actually felt. 

It really did smell like fruit, whatever it was Christian was using to coat him. The room smelled like peaches and sweat and bodywash and the same laundry detergent Christian had used when they were children. Luci scraped his fingers through Christian’s hair, then down the back of his neck, then finally settled against his shoulder blades.

When Christian pulled his fingers away this time, Luci managed to keep from pleading for him not to stop. He trusted him, though he whimpered a little at the loss of intense pleasure, the clarity of vision that came with not being touched just right. If all of that had felt so good, then whatever he had lined up now would feel even better.

His leg bobbed up and down as Christian’s shoulder rotated. Luci couldn’t quite see what he was doing, but judging by his expression and by the motion of his upper arm, he was almost certainly touching himself. Was he putting more of that liquid on himself? Yes, almost definitely, if he’d used it on his fingers, then he’d want to use it on his cock as well, right?

Luci knew he wasn’t as smart as his brother, but he could piece together that much, even in this haze.

“ _Are you going to fuck me now?_ ”

“ _Yes. Are you nervous?_ ”

“ _No. Well...only that I might not feel as good for you as you feel for me._ ”

Christian rubbed one hand up and down Luci’s thigh. “ _You feel incredible._ ”

“ _I bet you say that to all your twins._ ” He tried to slip into a southern accent, voice crackly and unsteady.

Christian was right.

His impressions truly were atrocious.

It earned him a smile, though, and that made it alright to make a clown of himself.

Christian kept one hand on Luci’s hip, while the other grasped himself. Luci felt him guide himself against him, the tip of his cock rubbing against him slowly. 

He’d thought his fingers had felt thick and all encompassing, but as Christian pressed against him, Luci couldn’t help but gulp.

“ _You’re so big._ ”

“ _We’re the same size._ ”

“ _Are you sure? You feel a lot bigger. Maybe I’m undersized from malnutrition._ ”

“ _I don’t believe it works like that._ ”

Luci hadn’t realized his lungs were burning until Christian leaned in, kissing the tip of his nose.

“ _Just breathe for me. Okay? Breathe._ ”

Luci took in a slow breath, releasing it with a small moan. 

“ _Good._ ” Christian insisted. Luci almost asked him to call him a good girl, to call him a pretty girl, to murmur about what a sexy sister he had.

But the thought was too confusing to linger on here, with his brother’s cock against his ass.

Their eyes met, Luci etching his fingernails into Christian’s back, as he moved forward. Luci’s legs flexed against him, the sound on his lips quieter than he expected to make, as his brother began to fill him. The feeling of his cock entering him was almost alarming, certainly surprising.

And altogether wonderful.

“ _Does it hurt?_ ”

“ _Yes._ ” Luci relaxed his fingers for a few seconds, before clamping his nails into him again. “ _And don’t you dare stop._ ”

Christian was crafted from stardust and fresh snowfall on a crisp winter day. He was built from all of Luci’s yearning and admiration and wonder, draped in a thick layer of worship, and as he moved within his brother, Luci struggled to remember what loneliness tasted like.

He loosened one hand from Christian’s back, blindly reaching out. Christian took it, locking their fingers, before pressing Luci’s hand against the mattress, the backs of his knuckles nestling into the plush of the blankets. Luci’s other hand continued to clench and scratch at him, as Christian settled into him completely.

“ _More,_ ” Luci whined deliriously, his body stretching to accommodate, to take. “ _More, Christian, please-_ ”

His tongue filled his mouth, as Christian drew his hips back. The next angle felt sharper, grinding against parts of Luci that he hadn’t been aware he possessed. They burned now, vibrant and needy. Luci wanted to beg for more again, but could only moan against his brother’s mouth.

His brother. The heir to the family. The upcoming patriarch. The Godhead. 

Fucking him. Fucking Luci, like Luci was the only thing in the world that mattered. He pulled back, fucking him deeper with the next thrust. Luci broke their kiss, catching his breath, and admiring the look of concentration on Christian’s face.

“ _Are you taking your own advice?_ ” He moaned.

“ _What?_ ”

“ _Breathe, Christian._ ”

Christian brushed the tip of his nose along Luci’s jawline affectionately, the fluttering feeling of his breath clinging pleasantly to his skin in the process.

The bed swayed beneath them, mostly silent. In fact, Luci grew aware, the room in general was much quieter than the scene felt. Raspy breaths and the sound of skin on skin. His heartbeat felt so noisy, rattling about in his ears. Luci remembered how his own pulse had fascinated him so much when they were kids, when they’d experiment with each other.

All that preparation, leading them to this moment.

It almost seemed a shame that they could only have one first time. Luci wanted to feel these things everytime, the tentative anticipation, the surprise of being so completely full with another person.

It hadn’t felt like this in the dark when his father had fucked him. That had been fast and sharp, had felt as though pieces had shattered inside him and worked into every nerve ending.

He didn’t know, exactly, how this felt, if he had to pin it down with words. Complete, certainly. Full. Overwhelming, almost, but it was the sort of overwhelming that he wanted to linger within.

Christian squeezed Luci’s hand, and adjusted his angle again. He moaned softly as he did so, the sound sweet and sincere and vulnerable. Luci smiled at him, his pulse somehow alternating between filling his eardrums and encompassing the inner barriers of his cock.

“ _Feels good?_ ”

“ _You feel amazing._ ” 

Christian rolled his hips forward. Luci’s vision unfocused, the sound of his own moaning startlingly shrill, as he moved against him just right. Cock throbbing, Luci’s fingers skidded through the sweat of his brother’s back.

“ _There?_ ”

“ _Yes. Oh...oh, yes, Christian, please!_ ” The feeling of his hand against his hip was warm, heavy, pleasant even, but at the same time- “ _Touch me._ ”

If it was a greedy request, Christian didn’t say so. He grasped him, rubbing his thumb over the tip of him. Luci wanted to move up against him, but with the position he was in, all he could do was take. All he could do was feel.

Again and again Christian slammed into him. His aim was impeccable, and his touch was blinding. Luci wanted to keep focus on Christian’s pretty expressions, but he had to close his eyes. His toes were curled so tightly he was almost afraid they’d snap off completely, and his fingernails broke through Christian’s skin.

Christian sighed his name.

And that was it.

Luci jerked back against the bed, tears trickling down his cheeks, as he came for the second time that evening. Or was it morning? He couldn’t piece together the date or the time, but what he did know was how Christian felt inside him. How he fucked him, through his own climax. Luci tightened around him, Christian’s hand working over his cock, cum hitting his own chest and stomach with the position he was pressed into.

He tried to remember Christian’s command to breathe. He truly did. But he couldn’t seem to inhale enough all the same. 

Christian’s grip tightened against his hand, his other hand giving a final squeeze to Luci’s cock, before moving to his thigh. His thrusts grew more erratic, ill composed. Luci opened his eyes, blinking through the tears, to watch the mirrored tears spill down Christian’s face. His brother’s features were red, lips parted and slick, tongue swiping over them briefly. His lashes were dewy with tears, as he lifted his gaze to look at Luci.

He looked almost pained as he came.

Christian thrust twice more, before holding himself still inside him, shuddering, coming inside Luci’s spent body. Luci’s throat felt raspy and tight, as he tried to murmur Christian’s name one more time, an encouragement, a sign of gratitude, but could hardly get a single sound out whatsoever. Briefly, it alarmed him, before fading into a calm acceptance.

This was the most he’d spoken, the most he’d existed, in fifteen years.

Perhaps it was fair to expect some adjustment may be needed.

Christian placed one hand against the bed, gently releasing his hold on Luci’s hand at the same time, though not yet pulling it away. His hips relaxed against him, cock still inside him, his body draping over him as though the strings which supported him had been snapped one by one.

Luci wrapped his arms around him, collecting him close, as Christian crashed against him. His legs fell off from his shoulders, flopping against the bed. Christian gingerly pulled out of him, Luci fully prepared to apologize for the mess of it all, but his brother was already kissing again.

Christian’s tears dripped from his face, gently dotting Luci’s cheeks. It felt right, though, for their tears to combine just as their bodies had.

“ _You’re amazing,_ ” Luci finally said, after the kissing ended, after several long moments of silently trying to catch their breath together. Christian slipped off of Luci’s chest, laying on the bed beside him, only to wrap his arms around him, pulling him in against him side by side.

“ _Yes,_ ” Christian agreed. 

Luci giggled. “ _No, you’re supposed to compliment me in return._ ”

“ _Hm._ ” Christian brushed his nose against Luci’s neck, the faint hints of tickle itching at his senses. He stopped, kissing his neck instead. “ _I wouldn’t know where to begin._ ”

“ _You could start with calling me pretty._ ”

“ _Don’t underestimate yourself._ ”

They needed to sleep. Luci knew they needed to rest, and certainly his eyes felt exhausted from tears and exertion. His body felt limp and worthless, though somehow while cradled in Christian’s arms that seemed to be a good thing. 

Their bodies had been exhausted, and they’d gone through a major shock with reuniting in the first place. Surely they’d both be reeling with this once the sun was up and reality truly settled into their limbs. 

And it was their birthday.

Luci felt the smallest flickers of discomfort at that remembrance. Birthdays. And the family that accompanied them. The expectations. The degradation. The pain.

Perhaps things had changed since Luci had been locked away.

But he strongly suspected things were much the same. 

Christian’s eyes were half lidded, and fixed upon him, sliding over the outlines of his body as though he couldn’t imagine cherishing something more stunning. Luci considered asking him if he was nervous about birthday festivities, considered asking him what he should expect, considered asking him if they should just slip out the window and escape this life before it had a chance to warp them just as it had every other adult in their lives.

“ _Twenty one,_ ” He said instead. “ _That’s how old we are, right?_ ”

Christian nodded. “ _It hardly feels real, does it?_ ”

“ _None of this feels real._ ” Luci curled up close to Christian’s chest, letting the feeling of his arms surround him. “ _I don’t know if I’m ever going to stop missing you, even though we’re back together now. Does that sound stupid?_ ”

“ _No. I understand._ ” Christian kissed his forehead. “ _Perhaps if I give you another blowjob, it’ll help soothe the loneliness._ ”

Luci giggled. “ _Is that the thing where you put my penis in your mouth?_ ”

“ _Yes._ ” 

“ _I might need to take a raincheck. I don’t think my parts can take much more._ ”

“ _I can’t believe you’d deprive me on my birthday._ ” Christian grumbled quietly, even as his lips danced over Luci’s face, kissing his cheeks and his nose and his jaw and his chin. Luci kept tilting his head, trying to capture his mouth with his own, but continuing to miss.

“ _Kiss me goodnight, silly._ ”

Christian cradled his face in his hands, kissing the tip of his nose one more time, before he let their lips touch again. 

The party might destroy them, Luci thought as his lips parted. But at least they could collect their broken pieces together and build something new from the wreckage.


	3. The Novelty

Moses hated the way his own face grimaced up at him through the reflection in the kitchen tiles. Everything had been scrubbed clean, the scent of disinfectant wafting around him, his hands wobbling and threatening to drop him against the ground.

One of the staff, a lower tier cook, lifted Mo’s chin upward. Glasses crooked, he peered at the man’s face disdainfully. This was the same cook he’d worked to get a proper raise, some proper accommodations, only the month before. 

And here he was now, pants around his ankles, cockhead dribbling precum in shiny beads down his shaft. Moses stared at it now, rather than the man’s flimsy-mustached face.

“Wait.”

The cook leaned forward, hand around the base of himself, as he rubbed the tip of his cock around Mo’s lips, as though applying lipstick. The man behind Moses slowed his thrusts, stopping finally with his own cock buried into his cum-dripping cunt.

He’d already taken five men before him. They stood around now, satisfied, watching the show, though their attention drifted upward, towards the voice compelling them to wait.

Archelaus’ feet clattered almost pleasantly against the floor. The sound was authoritarian and smooth. Moses’ fingers curled against the ground, elbows giving another little quiver with the urge to fold downward.

“I need to speak to him, leave his mouth unoccupied.” Archie waved the man standing before Moses away, then took his place. His well pressed black pants briefly caught Moses’ attention. They were new, clearly expensive, well fitted, and clashed horribly with his brown belt.

“You’re not seriously wearing that belt, are you, father?” Moses said before he could stop himself.

Archelaus stooped down, kneeling against the ground. His hand reached forth, and Moses tensed, expecting a slap.

Instead, he gently pet Moses’ cheek. It was almost worse, the softness, compared to a genuine punishment.

“I think it looks nice.”

“I think it clashes.”

“Yes, well, what do you know, child?”

A lot, he wanted to say. He certainly knew that a brown belt with black shoes simply wouldn’t do. His eyes flickered over his father’s body, dismayed at the striped red tie.

“That looks like a candy cane.”

“It’s festive.”

“This isn’t a holiday party.”

“Yes, well,” Archelaus’ hand briefly smoothed over the tie in an action so reminiscent of Godhead that Moses’ chest began to ache.

The staff member behind him drew his cock back, until just the tip was inside him. He squeezed Moses’ hips, then slammed forth with a wet slurping sound. Moses’ nose creased in disgust, feeling more of the cum dislodge from him in the process. He’d need to mop again, because certainly after this defilement none of the staff would take him seriously enough to listen to any recommendations to clean up. 

He watched as Archelaus’ attention briefly moved to the staff member, then back to Moses. “Is everything in order for this afternoon?”

“Yes. The menu is planned, Ferdinand is finishing the decor as we speak. I’ve contacted additional security.”

“Excellent, excellent. You’re a good boy sometimes, Moses.”

Moses barely managed not to crease his nose again. His breath stilled within him as his father ran his fingers through the black silk that was his long hair. His fingers stroked it once he reached the tip, before he scooped it in his touch and tucked it behind Moses’ ear.

A small slap on his ass from the man fucking him compelled him to breathe again, like a newborn freshly birthed. Sometimes he wished he could scream and wail at the injustice of it all himself.

There was too much to do, however, to allow self-pity.

“You’ll make an admirable Bride,” Archelaus added. “Now that he’s of a proper age, Christian really must set about making plans.”

The body currently fucking him draped over Moses’ back, hands slipping around him to firmly grasp his tender breasts. He fucked him rougher, tight, sharp thrusts that made Moses cry out despite himself. 

“You mean I need to make plans,” He countered breathlessly. “Godh--Christian can barely plan an outfit, let alone an entire wedding.”

His expectations of his father this time proved correct, as Archie let out a bright laugh. “He can be awfully helpless, can’t he? Bless him.” He stood, placing his hand on top of Moses’ head for one final pat. “I’m pleased that you’ve aided in this celebration as much as you have.”

It almost felt nice, to be appreciated. Moses was saved from trying to figure out how to answer, though, as the staff member rolled his nipples between his fingertips. He grunted weakly.

“And all while being so popular with the help,” Archelaus added. He pulled his hand away. “Go ahead and make it quick now, boys. I’ll need him in tip top shape to entertain, and I don’t want his uncles bitching that his holes are too used.”

So much for taking pride in being appreciated. Moses wanted to sigh, but kept himself quiet as the cook from earlier once more took his place before him. 

“Open up, savage.”

What a cliche. Moses licked his lips, though there was nothing about him that craved the taste that was impending. He knew from experience how this one tasted, the bitter sweat of his flesh. His eyes briefly turned to the side, watching as his father exited the kitchen, then parted his lips, fixed his eyes vaguely on the man’s stomach, as a hand placed against the back of his head and forced him forward.

His lips filled with the flavor of him, unwashed, the salt of his precum dripping onto his tongue. Moses curled it, both to try to retreat, and to properly cup the underside of his cock as he forced it deeper. 

The thrusts within his cunt grew more erratic, breasts held tight, flesh bulging around his grip. With a snarl, the man came inside him, as the other man gripped his hair tightly and yanked his head back to gain better access to the wetness of his mouth.

The man behind him released his chest, then pulled himself out of him. “Your daddy’s wrong. You’re a good girl, not a good boy.”

Moses rolled his eyes. It was apparently an amusing look, because the one fucking his mouth laughed huskily.

He heard the bare feet of the man who’d cum in his cunt retreat, only for another pair to approach. If Mo’s count was correct--and it always was--this was the last one. 

His ass felt sore, tender almost more than hurt, and though his cunt was almost certainly swollen from abuse, he desperately hoped he’d choose that entrance instead. Only one had used his ass, but he’d jackhammered him, and Moses was already dreading washing himself later, the unfortunate ache of cleansing himself only to be utilized by his adoptive family for the next three days of celebration.

The man who’d moved in behind him briefly used his hand to cup Moses’ cunt. Though that was where he’d prefer to be entered, he sucked in tightly around the cock in his mouth in pain. His thumb sought out his clit, giving it an experimental rub. Moses’ knees wobbled briefly.

One of the men had gotten him off, the indignity of it almost worse than any rape could possibly be on its own.

He’d wanted his first orgasm of the day to belong to his brother-fiance.

The touch lingered just long enough to make Moses’ belly ache with unfortunate arousal, before his cunt was released, and the man was leaning over his back to fondle his breasts. It always seemed to come back to his tits, didn’t it? Even Godhead wasn’t immune to their cursed charms, spending many lazy afternoons simply feeling him up.

He couldn’t say he minded it though, not when it was Godhead. Or, for that matter, when it was Christopher.

Though Christopher, he’d found, was much more of an ass man, if only in terms of groping. He didn’t often penetrate him that way, though.

Moses’ weak gag reflex fluttered for a moment, his distraction thinking of his siblings nearly making him forget to relax himself. The tip of the putrid cock slammed through the back of his throat, his muscles quivering around him as he swallowed, drool pouring from the corners of his lips, down the shaft and down his chin.

The other man spread his cunt open, the liquid feeling of cum matching the outpour of saliva from his mouth. Moses’ dark face colored in mortification.

And then the staff member was moving his cock against him, rocking it against the violated opening to his cunt. Moses struggled with the urge to bite down, keeping his jaw as lax as possible, rolling his tongue against the underside as though to try to ease the transition, to make this whole morning go faster.

As they both fucked him, as he grew used to the rhythm again, Moses once more thought of his siblings. 

He wondered what Godhead was up to. He was certainly already awake, if he’d even bothered to sleep the night before. Was he sad about the loss of his youth? It had of course been a few years since he’d been eighteen, but twenty one seemed more momentous. Not that they marked their maturity with the purchase of alcohol or other quirks of societal law, and not that there was really an official age when an heir was meant to consider taking over, but there was something about this specific birthday that felt important.

He liked to think about it, despite himself. Godhead wedding him, and taking over the family, though the specifics of both occasions certainly left him less than pleased. The wedding, after all, would include all the normal festivities--with the caveat that neither Godhead nor Moses would be used as party favors in that case. And while Moses physically would feel better to be left out, the idea of having to socialize while watching Christopher and their young cousins passed around did little to calm him. 

Moses, after all, was meant for this. He whimpered just slightly, his cunt burning with the intensity of the fuck, and knew that this was the extent of his worth. An Idolodulia by adoption, a trophy, a novelty. 

He’d been used in the orphanage, though the memories were cloudy. And so he was marked to be used here too. He suspected he’d have to deal with this for the extent of his life, forever victimized even once he reached adulthood, even once he was Godhead’s exclusively. Certainly Brides were expected to maintain diplomatic relations, and while Moses knew he was well-spoken and compassionate and intelligent, he also knew sometimes it was just easier to roll over, spread your legs, and let yourself be used to minimize the torment of others.

Maybe he could make a deal to allow himself to be used on his wedding night. Wouldn’t that be intriguing entertainment? He could even wear a white gown, stretched over the obsessively-maintained musculature of his build. They could soil it, and himself, and even if he couldn’t spare the others, at least they’d know they weren’t alone. They wouldn’t feel abandoned.

The man fucking his cunt was rubbing his clit again. Moses squeezed his eyes shut.

Perhaps it would feel better to think of the other subject, Godhead taking control. That would certainly have its perks, not the least of which being the change at least in their immediate family of parties. Assuming their father hadn’t the chance to marry Christopher off, Moses was certain that Godhead would give him an exempt status. He bitched a lot about his younger brother, but they were cut from the same cloth.

And Godhead was considerably softer than he cared to let on. Moses tried not to smile, mouth stuffed as it was, as he thought of his beautiful princess and his pissy attitude, his exceptional heart.

How on earth was he going to commit the acts necessary in order to take control?

Patricide wasn’t just normal, but culturally expected. The new generation doing away with the old generation. If Godhead failed, he’d be slaughtered himself. And if he succeeded?

Why did it make Moses feel sick to think of Godhead killing Archelaus? He didn’t think it was fondness; Archie could be charming at times, but the cruelties he subjected all of them to were undeniable. The constant rape, the infantilazation, the way he kept them locked away from the outside world.

Literally locked away, in Luci’s case. 

Thinking about Luci--Luciel, as he’d taken to mentally calling the sibling--left Moses sad, even as his clit was teased and rubbed, even as the man fucking him was hitting him in just the right way inside to draw reluctant moans around the cock in his mouth. He was almost completely certain that the correct pronouns were she/her for the locked away child.

Child?

She was twenty one as well.

Another sinking to his chest, as he thought of it. It was probably insensitive, he thought, to think of her as a girl when she’d never officially come out to him. But how could she? Even with Moses gently trying to impart knowledge on her, to share his own experiences of transition (if only socially rather than medically), she still lacked the cultural insight, the external comprehension, perhaps even the words themselves to know what was going on.

But he could remember her eyes lighting up in the dark when he’d come to her that first time in men’s clothes, with the swagger he’d perfected with Christopher’s misguided assistance (how, really, would Christopher know how to walk as a man when his ability to walk had dwindled further and further with every year?) in his bedroom for months, with the practiced depth to his voice.

“That’s an option?” She’d asked. 

How he wished he could whisk her away and teach her it was an option for herself too. To let her grow out her hair, instead of the hasty haircuts in the dark from clumsy staff members sent to check on the spare to assure it was alive enough in case of emergency. To buy her dresses. To, in a sense, practice his own curiosities about femininity outside of the context of his own body.

Because there was a lot about the female experience that still appealed to Moses. Perhaps it was his affinity for fashion. He’d found he enjoyed crafting gowns much more than three piece suits, for one thing.

Of course, that had a lot to do with the model he currently had. Godhead made such a darling mannequin, with his scowls and his attempts to hold completely still. He’d watch his fingers twitch occasionally, as he worked on hemlines, as Godhead struggled to keep from stimming.

Cute.

So damn cute.

Luci, he was sure, would make just as admirable a mannequin. And if his assumptions proved incorrect, if she was truly a he after all, that didn’t necessarily mean dolling Luci up would be a bad thing anyway. At the very least, it would be some positive attention.

Godhead taking control would mean reintegrating their sibling. Oh, how Moses-

-gagged, at the sudden pressure around his head, hands grasping the back of it and yanking him down against thrusting hips. He heard himself gurgle, the sound uncomfortably undignified, as the man came in his mouth. Or, at least, he started to cum in his mouth, before he was releasing his head, pulling himself out mid-ejaculation. Hot cum hit Moses’ cheek and the tip of his nose, his eyes still closed from earlier, though thankfully he didn’t feel any of the fluid mat his eyelashes.

“What a pretty picture,” The man breathed. It almost sounded reverent. He reached under him, giving his breast a small squeeze, as Moses opened his eyes. He watched his cock begin to soften, swallowing the tacky sensation on his tongue. How he wanted a drink. To lay down on his stomach for a while. To cuddle up with one of Christopher’s stuffed animals, perhaps, and let himself feel young for once.

At sixteen, it was too late for that, wasn’t it? Maybe twenty one felt like a monumental milestone of maturity, but sixteen definitely was no child either. 

Moses didn’t want to think about the fact that he didn’t think he’d ever been a child. If he let himself think about the fact he was born an old man, it would make him impossibly sad.

And sorrow took too much time. They had festivities to arrange. Which meant no tears. No naps. No cuddles.

It meant a quick shower and checking on the staff in charge of last minute preparations--oh, and mopping up the cum puddle, of course, and…

...well, and a little indulgence too, he had to admit.

After all, it was his darling fiance’s birthday. And he’d yet to give him a proper greeting, let alone a birthday reward.

With his mouth unoccupied, he cried out as the man behind him gave a few more hearty thrusts before cumming inside him as well. 

It was disgusting, but it was over. And that, truly, was what mattered.

Despite himself, he slumped forward finally, glasses clattering off his face, hair spilling around either side of his head, his cheek resting against the shiny white floor. He struggled to catch his breath, as the man pulled out of him.

His ass was given one swat. He hated how adults worked so hard to taint the few joys he had in life, for immediately his mind went to Christopher’s favorite shows of affection. Truly, Christopher generally preferred biting to show his love, but he was also fond of the impromptu ass pats.

Moses needed to get cleaned up before Christopher found him like this, as a matter of fact. Though he doubted Christopher would venture into the kitchen, at least not on a party day, it simply wasn’t worth the risk.

It was a struggle to push himself upright, and even more of a struggle to pull his underwear on over his defiled body. He didn’t want to stain the briefs with cum, but he also didn’t want to dribble anymore against the floor. It was a good thing that he had the foresight to forgo his usual habit of going commando on festive days such as this, the more layers between himself and others, even if just for a few minutes, the better.

Retrieving some paper towels and spray, Moses made quick work of cleaning up the floor. It proved too uneven a pattern of cleanliness for his pleasure though and, with a sigh, he tossed the towel, and grabbed the mop. Familiarity with the chore made the task quick, even with how Moses limped and ached with every step. His throat was uncomfortably dry, but he waited to drink until he’d gathered his pajamas and made his way to the nearest bathroom.

Once he was under the stream of scalding water, hair already lathered up and soaking in shampoo, then he allowed his mouth to open, to take in greedy mouthfuls of water. He couldn’t seem to quench his thirst no matter how much he swallowed. It settled uncomfortably in his stomach, and he imagined the layer of water simply laying on top of the excessive amounts of cum he’d been made to swallow that morning.

He’d only eaten some pineapple chunks for breakfast prior to being pushed to the ground by staff. He really should have had something more substantial, especially for fuel before the party.

But he couldn’t say that he’d been particularly hungry, either. Or that he’d have much hunger throughout the festivities, if other parties were any indication. Funny. He nagged his siblings so much for failing to consume proper nutrients themselves, but he could hardly seem to sustain himself in his own private moments.

As he rinsed his hair, he used a washcloth to roughly clean first his limbs, then his torso, then finally between his legs. He stared up at the ceiling as he did so, exhaling softly as he worked the cloth over the sensitive folds of his cunt. It really was swollen. Archelaus had been right to warn, for he could already hear the tutting mock-disappointment of his uncles as they made a show of assessing the trophy’s parts before breaking him themselves. 

Moses used a separate cloth on his ass. It was less painful than he expected, though still unpleasant. Working the cum out of himself, he sighed tiredly, watching the filth swirl down the drain.

It made him feel lighter once that task was done. Briefly, he used a washcloth to rub his tender breasts, a few light bruises against his dark skin. If he were observing it on someone else, it occurred to him that he’d find it attractive.

Setting the washcloths aside, he finally took the time to condition his hair. Finger-combing it through, he let himself enjoy a few minutes of solitude, of hot water and pleasant soapy smells. This household could be atrocious at times, yes, but at least the water pressure was impeccable.

And the towels were soft, he noted, as he stepped out into the steamy room and dried himself off. He used two towels, one for his body, one for his mane, and as he wrapped his hair up, standing naked as he gently rubbed the towel over himself, he heard a soft knock on the door.

The pattern of it made Moses instinctively smile. It had taken some time to properly teach Christopher to knock rather than bursting into rooms, after all, and it always struck him as impossibly sweet when he tried to show that he was indeed listening.

“You can come in.”

He made no effort to cover himself as the door opened. Christopher, all dark eyes and dark hair and pale skin and long limbs, wheeled himself in. His expression remained unchanged as he closed the door behind him, briefly assessing Moses’ nudity, before glancing up at his face.

“Pretty,” He commented vaguely. “There’s someone in Godhead’s bed.”

Moses’ stomach knotted. He pulled the towel from his hair, scrunching it about in the wet locks to try to dry up as much liquid as he could. Which staff member was bothering him? It must be someone newer, to dare defile one of the blood Idolodulia children rather than utilize Moses.

“Why were you in your brother’s room?” He opted to ask instead, a playfully chiding tone to his voice.

“Pillow fight. He wasn’t there. Who’s in his room?”

“I wouldn’t know, you were the one who went in there, not me.”

“I know, but…” He trailed off. “Pretty,” He said again.”

“Me, or-”

“Well, yes, but the one in his bed. Looked like Godhead, but pretty.”

Looked like Godhead-

“Luciel,” Moses breathed. He dropped the towel and started towards the door. 

Christopher’s small, cold hand pressed flat against Moses’ stomach, halting his progress. Seated in his wheelchair as he was, Christopher’s face was directly before Moses’ breasts. “Naked.”

“I...ah, right.” His mind twisted and turned, as he grabbed his underwear first. He regarded them, soaked in the crotch as they were with other men’s cum, and folded them. He set them against the sink’s ledge, then grabbed his pajama pants, silky, a faint blue hue. He slipped them on, then his top. His chest felt too unwieldy without so much as a bra, let alone his binder, but he’d change properly for the party itself after he investigated.

Because if he was right, that meant Luci was upstairs.

Which, perhaps, meant she was reintegrated into the family. Why? Because of the birthday party? As a present to Godhead? 

Someway to taunt them? Was there something dangerous planned for her during the party itself?

He wouldn’t put it past their father to do something so cruel. But then, he didn’t actually have evidence that it really was Luci in the bed. Maybe Christopher had mistaken Godhead for someone else. He could get quite the bedhead going when he forgot his CPAP and began to toss and turn in the night, after all, maybe he was unrecognizably unkempt.

Moses strode down the hall, passing the newly installed service elevator--Christopher had finally gotten over his trepidation and begun using it to travel up and down the manor--and instead opting for the stairs. It was good cardio, for one, and for another, he could make faster work of them than waiting for the elevator to come to his floor.

Two flights later, he was on Godhead’s floor, twisting his way down the hallways until he reached the appropriate room.

As he reached for the door, he felt a familiar hand touch against his shoulder.

“Your hair’s wet.” 

Moses turned around. Godhead’s lips had a faint speck of toothpaste at the corner. He chuckled softly, wetting his thumb with his tongue, then wiping the goo away. Godhead scowled just slightly, but made no effort to pull away. “Good morning, birthday boy.”

“And you didn’t comb it. What’s the hurry?”

Moses had finally passed Godhead in height. He looked down at his big brother, tilting his chin towards him and opting to kiss the tip of his nose rather than his mouth. “I can tell from the bags under your eyes that you got no rest.”

“Busy night,” He said vaguely.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“This is the part where you elaborate, princess.”

“Ah, right.” Godhead had already dressed for the day, shirt primly tucked into his dark pants, an equally dark tie hanging from his neck. He used one hand to grab one of Moses’, the other twisting at the tie uneasily. “I...father had an unorthodox present arranged for me.”

“I have my suspicions as to what.” At the way Godhead quirked an eyebrow, he elaborated, “Christopher went into your room.”

“Ah.”

“Is...is Luciel-” Another eyebrow raise, “-Lucifer truly in your bed?”

Godhead’s fingers gripped his hand a little tighter. “Father had him in ribbons in my bed last night. I don’t understand the, ah, the logistics, why he chose now, whether it’s permanent,” He paused, “But if he tries to take him away again, there will be consequences.”

“Naturally.” Moses didn’t doubt Godhead’s convictions, but he certainly hoped it didn’t come to any sort of confrontation. Fighting their father, though it was Godhead’s ultimate destiny, would require more planning, more underhanded tactics, than simply attacking him head on. And doing so in a moment of reckless revenge would prove all the more detrimental, all the more likely to fail.

Worrying about that now was nearly impossible though, as Moses’ mind continued to stray towards the unexpected guest. “Do you think, perhaps, I could see him?” He asked softly.

Godhead moved up towards him, eyes closed, as he tenderly kissed him. The toothpaste taste on his lips was almost overpowering, and certainly made Moses aware that he’d forgotten to brush his own in his haste. He usually did so after drying himself, before blowdrying his hair, but Christopher had thrown him off his schedule.

“Of course.”

Godhead reached around him, twisting the doorknob and opening the door. Moses turned around, Godhead briefly wrapping his arms around him to hug him from behind. Unlike with the staff, this felt warm in a way that didn’t make his skin crawl.

Godhead kissed his shoulder blade, then released him.

Moses took a deep breath, as though about to dive underwater, then stepped into the familiar room.

There, with just a sheet draped over her waist, lay Luci. Her cheek rested against the pillow, a small spot of drool against the pillowcase. Her upper body was completely undressed and, Moses suspected from the leg that was poking out from the sheets, this was true of the rest of her as well.

Moses truly didn’t consider himself bisexual, but in moments like this, how could he not appreciate the female form? She looked like a renaissance painting. 

“Immaculate,” He said despite himself. It sounded horribly pretentious, but it fit the mood Godhead usually crafted, so he couldn’t bring himself to care too much.

Luci groaned quietly in the bed, wriggling about, before turning her head in the other direction with a grunt, away from them. The sheet lifted just slightly with the action, half of her ass bared to the room.

“I don’t know if I should wake him,” Godhead said. “He looks so peaceful, but he should probably have some breakfast, in case our father decides he needs to entertain tonight.” His forehead creased a little with the intensity of his frown.

Moses kissed the top of his head. “I think we should wake him.”

“Wake who?”

The voice was groggy, and raspy, unused. Luci turned again in the bed, onto her side, the sheet shifting and barely covering her as her face briefly nuzzled the pillow. Her eyelids twitched then fluttered as they finally opened.

The blue of her eyes was brighter in the light of day than in the dimness of the basement, as was the pink of her lips. Her eyes moved from Moses, then to Godhead, lips alighting in a smile that only grew the more she looked between them.

“It wasn’t a dream.” She breathed. “Oh...oh, my brothers! My _brothers_! I’m really not alone anymore!”

She sat up, the sheet pooling over her waist, over her crotch modestly, though Moses could faintly make out the shape of her morning wood through it. It was a familiar size to Godhead’s own, or at least seemed to be through the material of the sheet.

Realization crashed into him all at once. “Godhead,” Moses said softly, “Did you fuck your twin last night?”

“I-”

“We made love,” Luci chimed in. Her face glowed, though her embarrassment seemed minimal. “We were built for each other, Moses. It was beautiful.”

Moses smiled, even as he turned on Godhead, stroking his fingers through his hair slowly, thoughtfully. “I can’t believe you’re so depraved as to take advantage of your sibling.” His voice came out low, almost dangerous, and he watched as Godhead’s eyes lit up in realization.

“It’s my birthday. I was owed a present, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I think that’s the least of what a filthy little whore like you deserves.”

Godhead’s lips turned upward at the corners, as Moses knotted a hand into his hair. He pulled his hair back, leaning forth towards his parted lips.

“W-wait!” Luci cried out in surprise, in horror. “He didn’t do anything wrong! Please don’t hurt him.”

Realizing how this must look, Moses abruptly let go of Godhead’s hair. His eyes were wide as he faced Luci, shaking his head a little, hands held upward in surrender. “I...no, no, I wasn’t hurting him, I’m not angry, it’s just...we were just-”

“It feels good, Lu.” Godhead said it so frankly, so simply, that it surprised Moses.

It surprised him more when Luci seemed to accept this. “Oh. You’re playing.”

It was a childish way to interpret it, but truthful all the same. Moses nodded. “Yes. We’re...yes.”

“Moses is my lover.” Godhead moved towards the bed, taking a seat on the mattress beside Luci. “We’re to be wed sometime in the…” He trailed off, a frown. “...well, a date hasn’t been set.”

“You really do need to get on that already.”

“Yes.” Godhead waved a hand about slightly. “With time. It will all come together.”

“No, you’re just hoping I get it together for you.”

“That’s not--I’m just considering all the options.”

“Sure.”

“You’re getting married?” Luci looked at them in awe. “Two boys?”

The fact they were related (if only through adoption, not blood) seemed not to phase her.

Then again, Moses thought, the two of them had just fucked the night before. He’d been teasing when he’d said Godhead had taken advantage, but in a sense, maybe he had. Luci had no experience--well, Moses suspected, no consensual experience. She’d just been brought up from absolute solitude, was likely touch starved and desperate to please.

Maybe it was wrong, to thrust (no pun intended) all that on her now.

“Yes,” Godhead said simply. He turned towards Luci, glancing down at the subtle tenting of the blankets. “Pleasant dreams?”

“Huh?” Luci glanced down, blushing all over again. “I...ah…”

“It’s normal,” Moses said. He took a seat on the other side of her, the bed dipping with his weight. He took one of Luci’s frail hands. “There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“I can’t believe you two are getting married,” She said, clearly trying to redirect the conversation. Godhead took her other hand. 

“Are you jealous?” Godhead asked.

“I--no, not jealous. Happy. Hopeful, even. I, ah, I really hope I’ll be here to see it.”

Moses’ smile felt strained. It would be lovely for Luci to be able to stay connected with the family. But being upstairs meant he’d be subjected to the same cruelties as the rest of them during any celebration, during their wedding.

“You will be,” Godhead shouldn’t have promised such a thing. But Moses couldn’t fault him for wanting to comfort him, to reassure him. He squeezed Luci’s hand, leaning forward and placing his forehead against his twin’s. “Happy birthday, Lu.”

“Happy birthday, Christian.” Luci giggled, the sound cutting out as Godhead kissed him. The sound she made once her mouth was muffled was soft, a pleased little hum, and Moses found himself brushing his hand over Luci’s thigh. Her skin was soft, prickling with goosebumps under Moses’ touch, and her knee began to bounce with nervous energy the more Moses slipped his hand higher.

“Wait,” Luci breathed. Both Moses and Godhead stilled, as Luci turned towards Moses. Her hands brushed through Moses’ wet hair, then gently looped around his neck. “I want to kiss Moses too.” There was a pause, pleading blue eyes looking into Mo’s own brown ones. “If that’s okay. You’re just so young, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Kiss me, birthday girl.”

“Girl,” Luci echoed in wonder. Moses felt bad immediately. He hadn’t meant to say that outloud. It was improper, and insensitive, to try to out Luci before she was ready. It was probably wrong to even think of her in such terms before Luci confirmed it herself.

Her smile was bashful, eyes glancing down, her fingers drumming against the back of Mo’s neck. “I like that,” She admitted softly.

And, with the same gentleness as her voice, she kissed Moses.

Her morning breath, compared to Godhead’s toothpaste mouth, was a bit tart, but pleasant in its humanity. Her lips parted under Moses’ tongue, welcoming him inside. He draped his own arms around her waist, narrow and frail, placing his palms flat against her back and gently rubbing her skin. He slipped his hands down, under the sheets she’d wrapped around herself, and teased his fingertips against the plush muscles of her ass.

It was familiar, similar to Godhead’s, but less toned. Christopher, Moses couldn’t help but think briefly, would love it.

Oh, he looked forward to introducing Christopher to his sister.

Moses pulled away, Luci whimpering and leaning forward slightly as though for more. Moses kept one hand against the small of her back, while the other moved over her chest. He gave one of her nipples a small tweak, then moved to the other. She squealed, a heavy shiver going through her.

“Godhead,” Moses said, voice quiet but firm. “I think you need to make your twin feel good. Don’t you think?”

“I--of course, but what did you have in-”

“Well, I’m sure you can find a way to put your mouth to good use.”

He’d expected Godhead to peel the sheet away, to swallow his sister’s cock. But instead, Godhead gently kissed Luci’s neck, then mumbled against her, “Can you get on your hands and knees for me?”

Moses could see the questions flowing through Luci’s mind, but she opted not to ask any of them. “Of course, brother.” She started to move away from Moses, but Godhead stopped her.

“Moses, can you lay under Lu?”

Moses normally wouldn’t let Godhead have the opportunity to make demands. But his gentle questioning was sweet and, frankly, it was his birthday. If he wanted Moses to submit just a little bit, he supposed he could humor him for now.

Moses moved away from the twins, towards the center of the mattress. He fluffed the pillows, suppressing a giggle at the drool stain, then laying his wet hair against the pillow case as he looked over at them. 

“Oh. You, ah, you need to take your clothes off first,” Godhead said.

“Needy needy.”

Moses sat up and found himself, once again, stripping off his clothing. The pajama shirt slipped away, revealing his bare, bruised breasts to the room, to his brother and his sister.

“Oh,” Luci breathed. For a moment, envy etched its way into her pretty features, though it was just as quickly snuffed out with admiration. “Oh, Moses, you’re so handsome.”

It made Moses’ hands still for a moment against the waistband of his pajamas. “Thank you.” He leaned over, kissing Luci. He found himself peppering kisses against her after a long kiss on the lips, pecking her against her cheeks and chin and the tip of her nose. It made her giggle again.

Yes, he thought, maybe he was a little bit bi.

Maybe girls kind of ruled.

Or, at least, this one particular girl ruled.

Moses slipped off his pants, lifting his hips to slide them down, easing the fabric down his thick, muscular thighs. He neatly folded them once they were off, setting them on the side table, then grabbing his shirt, folding it as well, and placing it on top of the pile.

Luci was blatantly staring, bottom lip briefly going between her teeth as she whined in longing. Gaze drifting from breasts down to his cunt. Moses wasn’t sure if she desired him simply out of lust or out of a need to shape herself after him and, frankly, he didn’t care. It just felt nice to be admired so preciously, so sincerely.

Godhead’s own eyes were fixed on him as well, the desire on his face softer with familiarity, but no less intense. He crawled towards him, jolting forward abruptly when Moses grabbed him by the tie and tugged him against him. Godhead’s hand settled on the bed between Moses’ legs to keep from falling and, as they kissed, he could feel the body heat of him radiating forth, settling against his cunt pleasantly.

Moses bit Godhead’s lip, sharp, and he grinned when they separated upon seeing it swell slightly. Godhead licked his lips, satisfied, and Moses released his tie.

“Your turn,” Luci chirped as she glanced at her twin.

“For what?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“I...why should I? I’m not the one being touched.”

As if Moses wasn’t going to pull him under afterwards. Moses tsked softly. “Who are you to question your superiors? Luciel wants you to remove your clothing. Now do as she says.”

He kept waiting for Godhead to question the female pronouns, but his face remained immovable as he loosened his tie. It slipped to the ground, quickly followed by his shirt, tugged out of its tuck. His pants came after, unbelted unlike his father’s, and he hooked his thumbs into his underwear to pull them off at the same time.

Luci whined once again. Moses glanced at her, petting his fingers through her hair affectionately. She bumped her head upward towards his touch, a needy kitten.

Moses let himself lay back against the pillows again, exposed to the room at large.

“Go on,” Godhead murmured, kissing Luci’s neck again. “Get on your hands and knees, over Moses, okay?”

“I, um, okay, but is he okay with it?”

“I’m happy to be under you, Luci,” Moses reassured. “Please trust us.”

“I do. But do you trust me?”

The absurdity of it, as though Luci had any capacity whatsoever to hurt either of them. Her frail form seemed barely strong enough to hold her own head upright, let alone throw any sort of violence about. 

“Yes,” Godhead said. He caressed his hand over her ass as she started to crawl towards Moses. She made a soft noise, almost protesting, as she climbed over Moses. Her elbows moved down to rest on either side of him, ass in the air, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of Moses’ hips. With the way she sank down, her flat chest rested against Moses’ full one.

Godhead jostled the mattress himself as he followed after. Moses spread his legs apart just a touch more, letting Godhead settle between them, poised on his knees and assessing the pair of them.

“Lu, you need to kiss and love on Moses, alright?”

“Love on?” Moses repeated with a snort.

“Shut up.”

It was Moses’ turn to raise his eyebrows. “Shut up?” He repeated. “Do you really want to talk to me like that? You know I won’t be defenseless like this forever.”

Godhead brushed his hand up and down Mo’s inner thigh. “I know. That’s the idea.”

“I can make him feel good,” Luci said assuredly. “But why are you behind me?”

With the way Luci was positioned, Moses couldn’t fully see what Godhead was doing (it certainly didn’t help, he remembered, that he’d left his glasses in the kitchen). But he was confident he knew, and judging by the sudden gasp from Luci, and the way Godhead had stooped over, that he’d spread her ass with his hands and buried his mouth in against her.

“Y-your tongue!” Luci cried out, verifying Moses’ suspicions. She wriggled on top of him, jostling Moses’ breasts. Her cock bucked forward, rubbing against the upper half of Moses’ cunt and just barely against her lower stomach. It was too awkward a positioning to be truly described as pleasurable, but it was very cute, and that was pleasing in its own right.

He didn’t anticipate Godhead slipping his hand upward, underneath Luci’s body. One hand must have been steadying himself on Luci, or perhaps on the bed, but the other began to pet Moses’ slit, wet from the shower and his own mounting excitement.

“Oh,” Moses breathed, startled and pleased all at once. His body was tender, and he knew it would be all the worse after the party, but Godhead’s touch was expert. Gentle in all the ways that mattered, confident enough with his flesh to know exactly where to go, even occupied as he was eating Luci’s ass. 

Luci whimpered, grinding her cock down against Moses once again. She left a trail of precum against him. Moses bit his lip, eyes closing for a moment, as Godhead sought out his clit. He teased it with his nimble fingers.

Moses released his hold on his lip as Luci leaned forward, wriggling body grinding and rolling, as her lips brushed clumsily against Moses’. She sat up slightly, palms pushing up against the bed so that she was straddling Moses, the tip of her cock resting against him, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Is that allowed?” She stammered out. “Isn’t that...isn’t that wrong?”

Godhead stilled, or at least his hand did against Moses. He must have pulled away from Luci to answer.

“No.” 

Luci opened her mouth as though to respond, before yelping. “He bit me,” She said in surprise, looking at Moses with wide eyes. “He bit my butt!” Her cock throbbed against him, betraying her pleasure at the act which had so caught her off guard.

Moses smiled, hands lifting to take advantage of the new way she was poised. He cupped her chest, squeezing the meager body fat. She shivered, and then moaned loudly as Godhead must have continued licking and tonguefucking her. Moses stifled his own sounds, as Godhead pressed a thumb against his clit, constant pressure, while two of his fingers slipped inside him.

Luci shifted her weight, balancing on a single hand, the other shaking as she placed it between Moses’ breasts. “I can touch, right?”

“Of course you can.”

Luci’s hand was soft, warm, and looked small in comparison to Moses’ breast, as she rested her palm against it. She squeezed, once, then glanced at Moses’ face uncertainly.

“Does it make you feel bad? Having...having these?”

The question surprised him in the moment. He sighed softly as Godhead curled his fingers inside him, his legs shaking with the mounting pleasure. “Sometimes,” He answered honestly. “I don’t like how they force the world to perceive me.”

“I think I understand that, maybe.” Luci admittedly softly. She traced her finger around one of Mo’s nipples. The combination of her touch, and her cock tickling against him, and Godhead’s fingers moving within him, was almost enough to make Moses cry. It felt so good. It felt so intimate. It felt so right, like they should have been doing this for years. “I mean, I don’t know how the world is going to see me. I haven’t been part of it for so long. But...I think the way I want to be seen, and the way I’ll be seen isn’t...I don’t think it…”

“It doesn’t match?”

“Right.”

Godhead moaned against Luci, and Luci’s face turned red. She kissed the corner of Mo’s mouth, pinching his nipple. Moses took the opportunity to tease Luci’s as well, gently twisting them back and forth, mindful not to go too far. Certainly not as sharply as he’d twist Godhead’s, were it his fiance above him instead.

“Well, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you,” Moses said when Luci pulled away from the kiss. “There are lots of people who feel that way. It doesn’t make you broken or dirty or shameful or...oh, _Godhead_ , fuck!”

“R-right?” Luci stuttered out, bucking her hips forward again. She leaned her body down slightly, Godhead moving with her, the underside of her cock resting against Moses. “I’m sorry, I know it must feel gross-”

“It doesn’t.” Moses stroked his fingers through her hair. “Nothing about you feels gross.”

Her hand moved away from Moses’ breasts, elbows against the mattress again, chest flat against Mo’s. She rolled her body against him, panting quietly as she humped her little brother, while her twin’s tongue worked its way into her. Sweat dotted her forehead, eyes watering, and Moses felt the urge to taste her tongue. So he kissed her, sucking on it briefly, then letting his tongue tangle with hers. She moaned into his mouth, as he cradled her face in his palms.

Godhead stroked Moses’ clit, until it was Luci collecting Moses’ moans instead. He whimpered against her, clutching her face, daring not to dig his nails in.

She continued to grind her cock against him. Moses felt dizzy, Godhead’s fingers briefly stretching inside him, before rubbing in familiar patterns against his most sensitive spots. He was soaking the mattress, he was certain of it.

Good, he thought. Let Godhead lay in the remnants of what he’d done to him. Let him baste in it. 

Moses’ nipples were hard, stimulated by the way Luci’s body wriggled against him. Their lips continued to clatter together, perfectly synchronized at times, clumsy at others. Luci panted, tongue remaining out of her mouth as Godhead rimmed her, eyes crossing briefly, before refocusing. Her face felt hot under Moses’ hands.

It had to be overwhelming, to be brought out of the dark and into this. Moses would have almost felt bad for her, if it weren’t so goddamn beautiful.

Godhead’s fingers had found a new rhythm, harder, faster, thumb flicking and rubbing frantically. Moses gasped, sliding his hands behind Luci’s head. He pulled her down onto him, kissing her open mouth. He wondered, briefly, how it felt to have a tongue in both ends of her, to be kissed and eaten out all at once.

He’d felt that himself before, Christopher and Godhead both aligning with him. Still, he wondered how it felt specifically for Luci. Brand new, he imagined. Like something they’d invented just for her.

He hadn’t long to ponder it before Godhead tipped him over the edge. Moses growled against Luci’s mouth as he came, kneading fingers against her scalp, keeping her pinned against his face. He bit her lip, then licked it, then let his tongue into her willing mouth once more. She pushed against him, teasing, fluttering, as her cock rolled over the expanses of his skin. 

He finally released the kiss, just in time to hear her own desperation. She came on him, making a mess of herself and Moses’ stomach. Her entire body wobbled, legs giving out, as she collapsed, breathless, onto Moses’ body. 

Godhead drew his fingers out of Moses’ pulsing body, slowly sucking them clean. His eyes moved over the pair of them, quietly assessing, before he was stroking his other hand over Luci’s back, her hair, then mirroring the same by petting Moses’ cheek, tucking a strand of his steadily drying hair behind his ears.

Godhead had been right to point out that he hadn’t combed it, he thought through his haze. It would be unmanageable if he left it like this. Staticky and matted.

Then again, he supposed he’d need another shower anyway, after the mess Luci had made of him. Pride swelled within him, as he stroked Luci’s hair as well. She whined softly, looking up at him with soft, wet eyes.

Godhead knelt against the bed. It took Moses a moment to realize he’d settled against a pillow, another to take in the way he rocked against it, and yet another to realize his princess had yet to be satisfied himself.

There was a thrill in leaving Godhead to melt in his own lust, but Moses couldn’t bring himself to do that on his birthday. Still, they were running out of time. They’d need to multitask.

“Come on,” He said. “We should shower.”

“We should?” Luci blinked. Moses stood up, effortlessly picking Luci up in the process. She was tall, legs almost gangly, as she folded up bridal style in his arms.

Funny, considering Moses was the Bride to be in the family.

“Yes,” Godhead conceded. “We should.” Gingerly, he rose from the bed, only to balk as Moses stooped down. “What are you doing?”

“Get on.”

“I...you’re not giving me a piggyback ride, I’m not an infant!”

“Do as I say.”

Godhead grumbled, as his arms wrapped around Mo’s neck from behind. He hopped into place, legs wrapping around his waist, his hard cock nestling against his back.

It was a pleasant weight, both the cock and Godhead’s body in general. Moses squeezed Luci close, affectionate, and kissed the top of her head.

“We should be carrying you,” Luci protested softly. “You’re our baby brother.”

“You’re very sweet,” Moses said as he carried them from the bedroom, to Godhead’s personal bathroom. The heaters in the flooring were still activated. How excessive. That alone warranted punishment, Moses thought. But it was his birthday, he’d let it slide for now. “But I’m much stronger than both of you. You’ll learn to appreciate being cared for.”

“But who’s caring for you?”

“I’m capable of handling myself, don’t you worry.”

Luci looked like he was going to protest some more. Mo stooped down, kissing her, then set her on the bathtub’s ledge. Godhead released his hold on his back at the same time, stepping onto the floor. Moses glanced back at him, Godhead’s arms crossed, a small pout on his lips.

Moses couldn’t resist kissing him too. He felt Godhead smile against him as he returned the affection, and then felt him gasp as he slipped a hand between his legs, flicking the head of his cock in mild punishment.

Godhead shivered happily, pulling back from the kiss to look at Moses shyly. It was such a delicate, sweet expression that Moses had to wrap his fingers around him, tugging him once from base to tip.

They needed to hurry along though. Moses turned to the tub, kissing Luci once more, then turning the knob to get the water flowing in the oversized tub. It would feel nice, he thought, to soak a little, and so he placed a stopper into the drain, and took the pink bottle of bubble bath from the shelf, pouring a hefty amount inside. The scent was lavender, and Moses smiled to think of his fiance smelling of it.

Well, he supposed they’d all smell of it. There was nothing wrong with that.

This was the only tub in the house big enough for Moses to comfortably fit inside, for which he was grateful as he picked Luci up and set her within the water. He grabbed Godhead after, who protested softly at being lifted, before being placed in Luci’s lap.

Moses stepped in after, the water flowing from the faucet. He stuck his head under it briefly, wetting his hair again, to ensure it would be manageable and combable again once they got out. His hair spilled down his back, smoothed by the stream. Bubbles flowed around their bodies, masquerading most of their nudity, though Moses’ breasts bobbed up and down in the water.

He turned off the water flow, then beckoned Godhead over. Godhead looked uncertain, but took a seat in his lap. Moses slipped his hands around him, groping his chest, as his teeth sank into the side of his neck, at the junction where the slope met the beginning of his shoulder. He knew how sensitive that spot could be for him.

Godhead groaned softly, tilting his head to the side as though to offer more of himself to his lover. Moses kissed the bite, then ran his tongue along the slope of his throat, biting him a little harder moments later.

Luci watched them, eyes wide.

“Is this too much for you, sweetie?”

Luci shook her head. “No, it’s just...it’s just you two look so beautiful.”

“Are you hard again?”

Luci’s face turned red. She squeaked, sinking herself down in the tub and submerging herself completely for a moment. Her head popped back up after several seconds, suds covering her dark hair, a single bubble dancing against the tip of her nose before it burst. 

“Maybe,” She admitted.

Moses kissed Godhead’s neck. “Check for me, won’t you, princess?”

Godhead’s hand glided under the water. The bubbles concealed everything, but judging by Luci’s gasp, his hand had made contact.

“Yes,” Godhead murmured. “He’s hard too.”

“Good.” Moses nibbled on Godhead’s neck thoughtfully, then beckoned Luci over with the bend of one finger. “Come here, Luciel. You’ll likely be more comfortable on your knees.”

“I...okay.” He watched as Luci adjusted herself, kneeling against the tub’s floor. Moses sat with his legs stretched, spread apart to give ample room for Luci to settle between them. Godhead perched in his lap, back pressing against Moses’ breasts.

“I’d have you fuck him,” Moses said, “But-” 

But there would be plenty of that at the party. Moses’ own body ached in reminder. Though he enjoyed putting Godhead through the wringer, he didn’t particularly want him hurting any worse than he already would. Even if it would feel good, and look good, in the moment.

“-but bathwater makes for awful lube,” Godhead grumbled. 

“Lube. Is that the stuff you put in me last night?”

Moses giggled. “The peach stuff?” He asked curiously. Godhead nodded, his neck brushing over Moses’ lips with the action.

He squeezed Godhead’s chest, then answered Luci. “Yes. Lubricant is useful, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes like to go in your brother dry.”

“With your fingers?”

The confusion made sense. Moses certainly didn’t expect Luci to know all the intricacies of silicone cocks, the snugness of straps holding them in place as he fucked Godhead rough against the mattress. Face down, ass up, drooling as he moaned Moses’ name in nothing short of reverence, of worship.

His cunt throbbed. But Moses ignored it. This wasn’t about him. 

Besides, he really didn’t want to agitate himself anymore before the party.

“Something like that. We’ll teach you soon enough, I promise.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I’m so dumb.”

“Godhead. Kiss her. Tell her she’s not dumb.”

Godhead’s ass brushed over Moses as he leaned forward. The sound of their kiss was wet, accompanied by the liquid sound of the bathwater splashing about them. “You’re not dumb, Lu,” Godhead said as he drew back. His hand lingered against Luci’s wet cheek. “You’re a smart, good…” He trailed off. Moses could sense his frown, though he couldn’t see it with his back turned to him. Thinking, pondering every little clue and detail. “You’re a good girl, Lu.” He added something in a language that Moses didn’t know, something shared just between himself and Luci.

Luci replied in the same tongue, voice higher, eyes wider, face redder. She wrapped her arms around him, wet body splashing forward in a crashing kiss. 

When she pulled back, she leaned against Godhead’s body in order to reach Moses, kissing him as well.

“Now,” Moses said once she pulled away. “Luci, I need you to take hold of your cock, alright?”

“I, um. Okay. I can do that.” She smiled down at the water, as she reached under the bubbles. She sighed as though to indicate that she’d done as he said. “Am I...am I going to be touching myself?”

“No,” Moses said before Godhead could speak up to protest. “No, you’re going to get each other off. Move up close to Godhead please. Godhead, guide Luci.”

Godhead placed his hands against Luci’s ass underneath the water, tugging her forward. Judging by the way Luci gasped, her cock had brushed against her brother’s.

Godhead squirmed against Mo’s lap in response. Mo squeezed his nipples. “Good girls,” He murmured. “Now Luci, you’re in control here. I need you to grind yourself against him. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes. Just...just rub against him?”

“Yes. You might need to squeeze your hand around both of you, to keep them against each other.” He watched the bubbles swirl about as Luci moved to follow instructions. Her face was deeply etched in concentration, softening once she was pressed against her twin. She sighed again, looking up at Moses for instruction. “You can go ahead,” Mo insisted.

“Yes,” Godhead said in a tiny voice. “Yes. Please go ahead, Lu.”

The water swayed about the tub, occasionally dislodging the bubbles enough to see the distorted vision of their bodies beneath the water. Luci squeezed them both together, loosening her hold to allow herself to roll her hips backwards, then forth once more, the underside of her cock rubbing against the underside of Godhead’s. 

Moses continued to bite and mark Godhead’s throat, teasing his nipples, as Luci moaned enough for the three of them. Her vocal nature was, Moses had to admit, extremely charming. She shivered, moving a little more fiercely against Godhead. Godhead wriggled and moved against Mo’s lap, raising himself up as best as he could in his position to meet every thrust, every bit of friction in their watery containment.

“Such pretty girls,” Moses murmured. “It’s so nice to see sisters get along so well.”

It was affirmation for Luci and degradation for Godhead, and Moses couldn’t think of any other way he’d rather have it.

Luci’s hand moved against them, evidenced by the way her shoulder rotated. The tip of her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth in concentration briefly, before Godhead leaned forward and kissed her. Godhead still had a hold of her ass, and Moses imagined he must be groping her, fondling. He wasn’t so unlike their little brother after all.

Godhead’s movements stilled, as Moses sank his teeth into his shoulder, sharp, cutting into his skin this time. The trickles of blood meshed well with the soapy water drizzled over his body. His body quivered then, head lulling back to lay against Moses’ shoulder, eyes staring, unfocused, up at the ceiling. He released one hand from Luci, raising it aimlessly, before he cupped Moses’ face behind him, caressing his cheekbone. His other hand remained in place against his twin.

He came, his moans quiet and restrained. His eyes closed, as Luci leaned forward to kiss his adam’s apple. In his limp position, Luci began to thrust against him more insistently.

Luci’s own reaction was louder, body frantic and excited, water from the tub beginning to splash over the ledge, onto the heated floor tiles. She pulled away from Godhead’s throat, Moses releasing his teeth from Godhead’s shoulder to instead move his mouth against Luci’s. The blood he’d collected in the bite smeared over Luci’s mouth like garish lipstick, the coppery taste making Moses ache all over again.

The bubbles did little to disguise the cum from both twins. The two of them struggled for breath, Godhead outright wheezing, as Moses took a moment to comb his fingers through his own hair. He reached underneath himself, pulling the plug from the drain, then shuffling Godhead from his lap. He stood, water coursing down his legs, as he closed the shower curtain. 

After all, he thought as he began to ease both twins to their feet, they still had a party to attend. And an actual shower to get through.

This had thrown him off schedule by a good amount, he was certain. He’d be punished for it almost definitely. But how could he possibly begin to care, as both twins began to pepper him with clumsy, exhausted kisses, as Moses turned the water back on and pulled the lever to get the water to cascade from the showerhead over their spent bodies.


	4. The Pet

There was a pig rotating on a spit in the back corner of the ballroom. A pig. A whole pig. With an apple in its mouth and its eyes open, unseeing, it’s tiny piggy tail curled up tight. Hooves and pink skin crackling over the fire. There was a fire. A fire, in the house. And a pig. A whole pig! Over the fire!

And they were expected to eat that?

Christopher stared at it. He stared at the pig, at the shiny red apple in its sharp white teeth, at its wrinkly snout, and thought about how he’d be fated to be penetrated and presented and feasted upon, if metaphorically, as soon as more guests arrived.

He felt tired. Maybe he should have taken up Daddy’s earlier admonishment to take a nap.

But he’d been so busy dripping cum from his mouth that he hadn’t known how to answer. And by the time he’d decided that, yes actually, he would very much enjoy a nap, Daddy was already gone, and the elevator button wasn’t working to get him to his bedroom floor, and Moses was nowhere near to carry him, so he’d sat there in his chair, tucked away in a corner, until someone inevitably fetched him, the elevator miraculously working once more, and forced him into clothes that felt too itchy, and shoes that were too cramped.

He scraped the back of one of the shoes against the footrest on his chair, kicking it across the room. He did the same with the other, then rubbed his feet together to try to work his socks off as well.

Itchy.

“What are you doing?” Godhead’s voice was familiar, irritated, and Christopher thought again of the pig in the corner of the room. He glanced over at it for a moment, then looked to his older brother.

“Daddy said I could,” He lied breezily.

Clearly, Godhead wasn’t having it. He huffed, walking away to grab Christopher’s shoes, then kneeling before him on the shiny black floor. Obediently, despite his distaste, Christopher held out his feet as demanded, first one, then the other, Godhead tightly looping the laces.

“Can you be normal for one night of your life?”

“No.”

Godhead’s eyes narrowed as he exhaled, rising to his feet again. “Moses wouldn’t approve of you acting up.”

“Not acting up.” Bringing Moses into it certainly wasn’t fair. Christopher crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his tongue back and forth over the ridging on the roof of his mouth. He needed to make sure everything was as it was meant to be, that there were no bumps or irregularities. He hated when he found anything changed about himself, any cracks or blemishes, anything raised or broken. It was important to always keep a good check.

That, and it just felt good. He shivered a little as he jammed his tongue up against the front of his mouth, tip against the roof, the underside of his tongue resting against the backs of his two front teeth.

“What are you doing with your face?” Godhead said after a few moments of watching him. Christopher forced his tongue to pull away from his teeth.

“Tasting.”

“Freak.” This time, though, his voice sounded softer. Godhead stepped behind Christopher, reaching into the pouch stitched into the back of his seat. He retrieved a comb, standing before Christopher again and carefully working the teeth through his hair. 

It was thoroughly unexpected, but not unpleasant. Christopher kept himself still, aside from his eyes, which stared at his brother’s inner wrist as it moved about. It peeked out from his dark suit jacket, the veins starkly blue against his pale skin. 

Christopher tilted his head upward, towards the comb, pushing into the teeth so that they scraped pleasingly against his scalp. Godhead smiled faintly, as he kept the pressure applied, just enough to gently scratch at him through his hair. Wriggling a little in his seat, Christopher reached out, taking Godhead’s other arm and clutching his hand with both of his own.

He expected his brother to pull away. Ordinarily, Godhead almost certainly would have. He’d pull away, scowl, call Christopher some sort of name, maybe push him away, facing some wall, and activate the lock on his wheels. 

Godhead’s fingers twitched slightly. Christopher lifted his hand, gently nibbling on each fingertip, eyes raised to meet his brother’s. Godhead’s other hand continued its path of fixing his hair with the comb.

“Birthday,” Christopher said, muffled as he was by the fingers in his mouth.

“Yes.” Godhead agreed softly. 

“Nervous?”

“About the party? Not for myself.” Godhead pulled both hands away, clearing his throat, as he walked around again to replace the comb in the back pocket of the chair. He remained behind Christopher for a moment, his hands resting against the handles. Christopher could hear his fingertips nervously tap for a moment, before he cleared his throat again. “You’re, ah, you’re aware I’m a twin, aren’t you?”

What a silly question. Daddy spoke often about it, the Heir and the Spare. Christopher couldn’t quite say he understood the details. But Godhead was the stronger of the two, or at least the more qualified, or at least the more destined to achieve greatness. And the other…

Oh.

What was the other’s name?

Something felt terrible about not knowing the full details of the other twin. Christopher rotated his tongue in circles along the roof of his mouth again, the touch light, ticklish, shivers itching their way down the back of his throat. 

“Yes.”

Godhead walked around, facing Christopher again. He dropped down, one knee on the ground, the foot of his other leg firmly planted, as though he were about to propose. His hands rested against Christopher’s kneecaps. “It’s okay if you don’t know much.”

“I know plenty.”

“His--her--their name’s Lucifer.”

“Devil.”

Godhead smiled. “More of a fallen angel, but ah...oh. That’s fitting. Yes.” He sighed, glancing around briefly as though to assess the status of the uncles and aunts who were becoming more plentiful. They hadn’t long. “They’re...they’ve been in the basement.”

“This whole time?”

“This whole time, yes.”

“Just,” Christopher swallowed, glancing down at the floor, as though he could stare straight through the tiles. He’d never been in the basement, but then there were many places in this house that he simply wasn’t capable of exploring, no matter how much he ached to wander. His world was tiny. It would always be tiny. 

But at least he hadn’t been trapped in a basement for years and years and years.

“Just under our feet?” He finally finished his sentence.

“Yes.” Godhead was looking down as well. He sighed, finally raising his gaze again. “Father brought them--her--back upstairs last night.”

The changes in pronouns were noticeable, if unremarkable. “Mm.”

“It’s very confusing. I’m not sure how...why...if…” Godhead tensed as Christopher placed a hand over the back of his.

“It’ll be okay.”

“I fail to see how you can be so sure.”

Christopher kept his lips sealed together, but very gingerly spread his teeth, just a crack of distance between them, to wriggle his tongue between them. He rocked the tip of his tongue against each of the points of his canines, as though counting them, then pulled his tongue back, jaw settling closed again. A brief moment of pause, before he chose to speak. “Deserve good things.”

“Yes, she-”

“You. You deserve good things.”

Godhead drew his hands away from Christopher’s knees abruptly. He rose to his feet, dusting his black pants off as though they’d collected dust. “At any rate,” Godhead said quickly, “She’ll likely be around here. And I just thought-”

“Not to worry, Christian, I’ll be introducing Chrissie here to his newly retrieved brother.”

Daddy’s footsteps usually announced themselves more forcefully. This time, his voice made its way around Christopher’s senses before anything else, startling his tongue into curling at the edges for a moment, finally flattening again. He glanced up as Daddy placed a hand against Christopher’s shoulder, standing beside him.

“Where is he?”

“Lucifer? I’m having him dolled up as we speak. Oh, Christian, don’t look so glum. You’ll have plenty of time to play with him again. Though it’s clear from the sight of him that you definitely got your fair share of playtime out of him throughout the night, didn’t you, my darling?” Daddy gently squeezed Christopher’s shoulder as he chuckled fondly. He leaned forward, Godhead’s eyes briefly widening, shoulders hitching upward by an inch in tension, lips pressing against his eldest son’s forehead.

Oh.

Daddy had done things to Godhead again, hadn’t he? He knew they had a history, though Christopher had never witnessed them doing anything. He suspected Godhead had just gotten too big.

What had made him seem small enough to touch again? Christopher felt a wave of sadness, sorrow, anxiety, then bundled all of that up tight and shoved it deep deep down in his belly.

He could feel the pig in the corner of the room rotate and stare through eyes that would never see again. Christopher pointedly ignored that too.

“I thought this unhealthy attachment would fade with distance,” Daddy said as he pulled his lips away from Godhead, a small smile on his face. “A pity, that we share the same toxic habit of loving too devotedly. I just hope you can find a way to balance your power with your infatuation if you ever find yourself motivated enough to take your rightful place.”

He turned around then, facing Christopher. Bending slightly at the waist, Daddy cupped Christopher’s face in both his hands. He nuzzled the tip of his nose against Christopher’s, Christopher remaining completely still as his father rocked his face back and forth with the motion. “Oh, my little bunny, you look so handsome.”

Daddy pulled back, and Christopher let his eyes move over him. The black of his suit wasn’t altogether dissimilar from Godhead’s own, though he was wearing a brown belt, and his tie was red and white.

“Candy cane,” Christopher blurted before he could think otherwise. He tugged at the powder blue of his own suit jacket.

Theoretically, it had made him feel grown up when he’d first learned he’d be wearing a suit of his own for the occasion.

In practice, there were too many layers. And pointless. They’d all be taken away soon enough anyway.

Daddy gently grasped at his own tie, staring at the garish colors, his cheeks starting to heat just a little. His smile, forced for a moment, strained his voice as he dropped the tie, and slipped in behind Christopher’s chair, taking the handles. “Why don’t I introduce you to your brother before the festivities come underway, okay, sweetheart?”

“Father, wait. Where...what was Lucifer prepared for?”

Daddy turned the wheelchair around, faced away from Godhead, though he paused at the sound of his voice. “You’ll see soon enough. Don’t think just because it’s your birthday that you can start getting overly familiar.” Christopher could feel the chair ease as his father released the handles, listened to the familiar crunch of his feet against the ground as he stepped towards Godhead. “What I decide to do with you children is still, ultimately, my decision. I am your father. I am the patriarch of this family. And, though I know you like to claim it for yourself prematurely, I am still the Godhead. And how I decide to utilize your twin for entertainment is my jurisdiction and mine alone. Do you understand?”

Christopher couldn’t see the scene, but he imagined Godhead must have nodded.

He didn’t have to imagine to know it wasn’t enough for Daddy. Daddy’s voice came out sharper. “With your words, Christian.”

“Yes.”

“Say it properly.”

“Yes, father.”

“Christian,” The warning in his voice was hard and venomous. Christopher heard Godhead swallow, could imagine how dry his mouth must feel, and Christopher swiped his own tongue desperately around the inside of his own mouth, feeling every soft cushion of his inner cheek.

“Yes, _Godhead_.”

“That’s right. Go mingle. Let your family enjoy all the ways you’ve grown and matured, my sweet boy.” 

Godhead’s own footsteps were like that of a cat. But Christopher didn’t have to hear him to know he’d walked away. Daddy took hold of the handles again, stooping down to kiss the top of Christopher’s hair.

“I’m so glad you’re such a good boy, Chrissie. Your brother is such a handful sometimes. The will of that boy.”

“Good enough for no party?” Christopher tilted his head up, staring up at Daddy. Odd, that he’d call him a good boy, when he knew for a fact he was considerably mouthier than Godhead would ever dare to be.

Christopher wasn’t naive. He knew he was the favorite. But what he didn’t know was if that was more blessing or curse.

Daddy kissed him on the lips, upside down with the way he loomed over him from behind. The tip of his nose rested against Christopher’s chin. Christopher’s lips parted instinctively, and he poked his tongue against Daddy’s, tap-tap-tapping until he could reorient himself with the position they were in.

“Of course not. I have to show off my special little boy. People came all this way to enjoy you. You wouldn’t want to let them down, would you?”

“Don’t care.”

Daddy laughed, kissing the tip of his nose, then standing upright again. “Are you ready to meet your brother?”

The question hardly seemed worthy of answering. How was Christopher supposed to formulate words for it? He’d barely understood the mythology that he’d had two biological siblings in the first place. It had all felt theoretical at best. He hadn’t realized they were literally underfoot, at any rate. Did Moses know?

Moses, he thought, definitely knew. Moses knew everything, about every inch of the house, about every quirk of every person. He knew the right things to say. He knew the right ways to say them. He knew how to position his face in pleasing patterns to put others at ease. He knew how to comfort. He knew how to calm. He knew how to love.

He should have been the favorite. He was good. He was good and he was beautiful and Christopher didn’t really have a favorite brother, not truly, but Moses still was probably his absolute favorite person in the whole entire world.

He didn’t understand how they could both be sixteen. He didn’t understand how Moses could carry so much goodness, while all Christopher carried was…

He didn’t know. He didn’t think he was strong enough, really, to carry anything at all.

Daddy pushed him through a doorway, out of the main open space of the ballroom proper, into the smaller room which served as an entryway. The color scheme was warmer here than the blacks and ivories of the ballroom itself, more reds and oranges. He knew Daddy preferred this, enjoyed the lushness of orange tones in particular.

He knew Daddy liked things in patterns of 4s. He knew how Daddy took his tea, even if he didn’t know how tea was actually made in the first place. He knew how Daddy still had nightmares about his own father, about his own twin. He knew which pillow his Daddy couldn’t sleep without and that he still preferred his toast without crust but ate it anyway as though to prove he didn’t need any childhood comforts. 

He knew Daddy loved him without demanding to be loved back.

And there was something pure about that, wasn’t there? Perhaps tragic? Christopher tasted his back molars, then softly murmured, “You don’t look like a candy cane, Daddy.”

Daddy laughed again. Christopher kept the frown on his own face, but felt the tension in his stomach lighten.

His eyes adjusted finally to the change in lighting, the change in color scheme, to admire the decor. Dangling from the ceiling (painted elaborately with artful nude murals, the age of the house cracking at the paint in patches that Moses often murmured needed to be restored) was a long silver chain, intricate and jeweled. It snaked its way down, ending with the sloping bell of a large bird cage. The cage was only suspended two, perhaps three feet from the ground itself. The bars were thin, twisting things, gold in contrast to the chain.

The being inside was completely naked, hands chained overhead to the top of the cage. They were perched on their knees, legs spread, body held so impossibly still that at first Christopher assumed them to be a statue.

Small breaths caused the being’s chest to rise and fall. Two pink nipples adorned their chest, golden clamps grasping each, a delicate chain connecting both and gracefully falling over their sternum. The weight of their breathing seemed to jostle it, a bell weighing the chain down in the middle and twinkling merrily with the slightest of movements.

The bottom of the cage possessed what Christopher could only describe as a large, semi-clear spike. The base of the triangular protrusion was perhaps double the size of both of Christopher’s fists clasped together. It tapered inward steadily, shrinking towards the top, before the sight of it was overshadowed completely. The tip, and several inches below that, had been buried into the caged being’s body. They sat upon it, Christopher’s eyes moving up to their chained wrists.

Oh.

He’d been mistaken. Their hands weren’t chained at all, but rather grasping at two loops of chain dangling above them. Not trapped, but clinging rather, desperately holding themself up to keep from sinking further onto the spike. There wasn’t enough room to stand, and even if there were, Christopher could see that rather than their wrists, it was their ankles which were restrained, carefully cuffed on either side of the cage, keeping their kneeling position as spread and precarious as possible.

They whined softly, body wriggling, and Christopher realized that aside from the clamps against their nipples, the only other sign of adornment, of clothing in the most rudimentary of senses, was a single pink ribbon delicately bowed around their cock, right at the junction where the head blended into shaft. It was loosely held, clearly just a little texture meant to agitate tender skin. Their cock was hard, either because of all the stimulation or in spite of it, and Christopher found himself admiring it for a moment, the sheer pinkness of it, before they made another small sound, and Christopher was forced to become aware of their humanity again.

Humanity. This was a human being. A real person, suspended in a slightly swaying modified bird cage.

Christopher’s eyes snapped to their face.

Their black hair was slightly shaggy, not quite enough to be considered long, but framed their face in a delicate manner. Their eyebrows were pinched and concerned and frightened, the inner corners pointing upward while the outer edges angled downward. Their blue eyes were pleading, watering, briefly unfocused, before awareness of Christopher’s staring seemed to draw attention back into them.

Everything about their expression screamed softness, but their nose was sharp, as were their cheekbones. Their bottom lip was full though, and quivering, and Christopher looked away as the familiarity to his older brother grew too obvious to ignore.

“Christopher, this is your brother Lucifer.” Daddy reached over, giving the cage a small push. It swayed back and forth, and Christopher watched as they scrambled to grip tighter to the chains above them, gasping as this failed to prevent them from sinking just a little further onto the spike.

Daddy chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not a monster. It’s lubricated.”

Christopher wasn’t sure if he meant the chains or the spike or both. He also didn’t know if monster was ever quite the right word to describe the moral twistings of Daddy. He didn’t know if he understood his humanity better than the others--Moses, after all, notoriously analyzed the motivations and inner workings of everyone around them, all warm brown eyes and soothing psychological compassion--but he knew monsters. Creeping things in unclosed closet doors, dangling shadows under beds, gnashing teeth of trusted nannies claiming things meant for family only.

Daddy wasn’t a monster. 

He might not be very good at being a human being.

But then, Christopher wasn’t either. Maybe that was why he was Daddy’s favorite.

“Lucifer,” Christopher said softly.

Those blue eyes blinked, tears trickling down flushed cheeks. Their shaking lips moved as their gaze fixed on Christopher. “Please,” They rasped out. “You can, ahh, you can call me L...Luci.”

“Luci.” Christopher couldn’t shake the awe from his voice.

Daddy clearly enjoyed it. “I’ll let you two get to know each other. But don’t take too much time, okay, bunny? You know how popular you are with your family.” He pattered kisses over the hair that Godhead had so dedicatedly--so lovingly--fixed only moments before, then walked towards the door that would lead him back to the main ballroom. Christopher counted his footsteps, then listened to the easing of the door, then finally focused on the person before him.

Luci.

His-

“Brother?” He questioned. 

“You must be Christopher. It’s, nn, it’s my pleasure to meet you, Christopher. Do you prefer, a-ah!” the sounds they made were frightened, confused, overwhelmed. Christopher traced his tongue along the backs of his teeth, determining whether the spaces between each tooth was adequately tight, straight. “Do you prefer C-Christopher or Chris?”

“Christopher.”

“Okay. Good, ah, good to know.” They grit their teeth, struggling to breathe and fake a smile at the same time, and somehow failing at both. “I, ah, I prefer Luci.”

“You said that.”

“I...yes, I guess I did. And Ch-Christian preferred no nicknames, like you. Well, besides…” Luci trailed off again, body sinking a little lower, before their hands tugged sharply at the chains. The meager muscles in their arms flexed as they managed to draw up by a good half-inch on the spike. “...besides Godhead, but that’s not really a nickname, that’s...that’s a way of...well. It’s, ah, it’s nice to meet…I already said that too, didn’t I?”

Christopher wanted to reach through the cage and push the hair from Luci’s face. Thick strands clung to their sweat-dotted forehead. He couldn’t imagine the sensation was pleasant. Christopher had gone through a phase where he’d refused haircuts, ultimately allowing Moses to trim his by then shoulder length strands when the displeasure of tickling against his neck grew too distressing.

That and he didn’t like how it had given Daddy even more reason to pull his hair. His scalp certainly thanked him for the shorter style.

The suspension of the cage kept Luci’s face and certainly their hair out of reach, though. Christopher reached down, carefully guiding his wheels forth to get all the nearer to Luci’s cage.

“I so wish this wasn’t how we were meeting.”

“Hurting?”

“Hurting? Me? I...no.” 

“Liar.”

A few more tears slid down their face. Christopher shrank back against his chair. “Sorry,” He said softly. “Not a liar. But-”

“You’re right. Yes, it hurts. Or...it’s embarrassing, at least.”

“Scary?”

“Yeah,” Luci shuddered, fingers clasped so tightly to the chains that the tips of them had gone white. “Yeah, it’s scary.”

Christopher wanted to tell him he’d get used to it. But was that something you could get used to after living under the floors for most of your life? Christopher had never known anything but this life. He suspected Luci must have known this life too, before they’d been locked away, but who was to say? Maybe he’d ask Godhead. Or maybe he’d ask Moses. Moses had been adopted, after all. Christopher could still remember the first day he’d seen him, dark hair and brown eyes and oversized glasses slipping down his pretty face.

Christopher had hidden under his bed for the rest of the day without even saying hi first, fascinated by the full body pulsation of his own heartbeat, rapid and all encompassing.

This, he thought, was similar to that. Meeting Luci. Except Christopher was too grown now. Running wasn’t an option. Especially not during a party.

“Luci?”

The bell against their nipple chain glittered pleasantly as they struggled to push themselves upright. The process had the opposite effect, knees crushing downward, body sinking lower, to a wider notch of the spike. “Ah! Yes?”

He wanted to tell them that they all understood embarrassment, that they all understood pain, that none of them would find Luci disgusting or degraded or ruined by any of this. These were just things that were done to them, to all of them, things that they just needed to mutually survive. There was no need to carry shame on top of everything else.

He wanted to tell them that it wasn’t always bad. Moses knew how to make up fun games, when he wasn’t too busy tending to staff drama or labor. Godhead sometimes made up bedtime stories that would expand for months and months of worldbuilding, night after night, and he’d even continue the stories when they’d been bickering all throughout the day. Sometimes that was all that was needed to keep the monsters away.

He wanted to tell Luci that they were awfully pretty, even like this, and that he could see why Godhead must have loved them so much. He wanted to tell Luci that he knew he was going to love them too. 

But talking was almost impossible at the best of times.

Christopher slipped his hand into the cage. His fingers brushed over Luci’s hip, feeling the quiver of their muscles just underneath the skin. How hard they were straining and struggling just to hold themself upright. 

Christopher shifted closer, towards the edge of his seat, his forehead slumping forward a moment to rest against the bars of the cage. “Make you feel better,” he said softly.

Luci twitched under his touch, as he slipped his hand away from their hip, brushing against their thigh, just a moment, before flicking his finger against the ribbon.

That simple motion was enough for Luci to suck in a startled breath.

Christopher grabbed the outer edge of the ribbon. Drawing his face back from the bars, he peered in intently, as he yanked suddenly at the ribbon. The knot came undone, and Christopher pulled the pink cloth away.

He took it from the cage, staring at it a moment, before thoughtlessly placing an end of it between his lips. He sucked the ribbon into his mouth, chewing casually on it, half of the ribbon dangling in the air from between his lips, as he slipped his hand back into the cage.

Unable to tell if Luci looked horrified or amused or possibly just plain confused, Christopher traced a fingertip from Luci’s bellybutton down their lower stomach all the way down to the base of their cock. Casually, he outlined every inch, slipping his digit down the upperside until he reached the tip. His finger circled around the head. Sucking on the ribbon, he teased them, wetting the pad of his finger with precum, that he then used to glide back along the top of them, back to the base.

Christopher’s other hand reached into the cage at the same moment as he wrapped his hand firmly around their cock completely. Steadied around the base of them, the other hand tugged briefly at the chain dangling against their chest. The pressure pulled at the clamps against their pretty pink nipples, and drew a cry from Luci. Their body pressed down against the spike, as though searching for more pressure, more friction, before they pulled up against the top of the cage.

“Doesn’t have to all be bad,” Christopher said softly, muffled though he was by the ribbon in his mouth.

Luci tried to say something, but Christopher gave another pull to the chain, the bell dinging its consent in the absence of Luci’s words. He slipped his hand up to the head of their cock, pumping back to the base again after. Squeezing gently, Christopher marveled at how solid, how pretty they felt. The ribbon tickled pleasantly against the tip of his tongue and tasted vaguely of sweat and lavender.

“Christopher,” Luci breathed. “I can’t...I don’t know if I can hold myself up if you keep...o-ohhh.”

Their body bobbed and slipped against the spike. Christopher was torn between wanting to pull them off of it, to whisk them to safety, and wanting to see just how much they were capable of taking.

He began to stroke them faster.

A sharper tug to the chain drew a louder cry from Luci. Vaguely, Christopher was aware of a few bodies within the entryway, uncles pausing to witness the new display. Christopher cringed as a few hands stroked through his hair, his skin itching at greetings, at kisses pressed against his cheeks, before unwanted attention thankfully drifted into the ballroom itself. He knew he didn’t have long, soon he’d have to leave Luci to be a display, and he’d have to be a party favor, and they’d both need to find their own inner forms of coping.

But for right now, he collected Luci’s moans and desperation and confusion and pasted it over himself like armor.

It was selfish. He’d thought his intention was to make them feel better. To at least give them some pleasure, or to introduce his usefulness to his older sibling, or to otherwise make some sort of grand statement.

But in the end, it was all just selfishness. He was Daddy’s favorite for a reason.

Everyone said Godhead was the one most similar to Daddy, but Christopher knew better. Godhead was smart like Daddy. He was handsome like Daddy.

But he didn’t take like Daddy.

The back of Christopher’s neck itched with heat and unpleasantness. He watched Luci squirm and gasp for breath, the way their chest arched, and could feel them throbbing in his hand. He swallowed the ribbon fully into his mouth, using his tongue to tuck it between his cheek and his back teeth.

“Doing really good,” Christopher said. He swiped his thumb over the head again, gently massaging, before going back to longer strokes over the whole of them. They slipped lower upon the girth of the spike, moaning an almost agonized sound. Christopher paused, lowering the pressure he’d held on the nipple chain.

“Don’t stop,” Luci gasped. “I’m so close, I’m so close, please don’t stop-”

Christopher jerked his sibling off, carefully working their cock in a hand more capable than he’d ever realized possible. Alternating between pulling on the chain and simply holding it with a steady pressure, Christopher listened carefully to every change in breath, every adjustment in pitch. He watched as their fingers struggled at the chains above them, trying to hold themselves upright, or rather, trying to control the sway of their hips as they desperately pressed down against the spike inside them. They rode upon it, grinding up and down over every dangerous inch. 

When they came, it hit the bars of the cage, glistening prettily against the metal. Their hands loosened dangerously against the chains, body sinking almost completely onto the spike. Their knees alone caught them enough to keep from completely losing themself on it, even as the upper half of their body slumped. The chain against their nipples, no longer pulled, hung limply, the bell jingling obscenely, musically tuned with the frantic panting of Luci.

Christopher would have liked to witness it forever. The ribbon collected his saliva within his mouth, and the corners of Christopher’s lips briefly raised. Tentatively, still uncertain which pronouns Godhead had meant to present for Luci, Christopher tested the words softly. “Going to like having a sister.”

The effect on their smile was instantaneous. Even with tears clouding their eyes more intensely than before, they seemed pleased with Christopher’s words. Their tired hands swatted upward, trying to tangle with the chains to pull themselves upright again.

Christopher wouldn’t have time to see if they could do so. He wouldn’t have time to analyze Luci’s pretty face or delicious blush or the filthy but tempting way their ejaculation trickled down the bars of their confinement.

The abruptness of his chair being pulled backwards nearly jostled him out, seated on the edge as he was. Hands retreating to his armrests, he saw Luci freeze for just a moment in recognition of Christopher’s departure, before that sight too was gone, body spinning as the chair was turned around. Christopher faced the door towards the ballroom, as he was abruptly forced through.

He didn’t know the name of the uncle who’d pulled him away from his meeting with his sibling. He recognized the silver of his stubble, though, all the more when he stepped in front of him and stooped down to kiss him. The feeling of his facial hair rubbing against his own delicate face was uncomfortable and abrasive. Christopher pressed against the back of his chair, sinking into it fully again, fingers which had only seconds before enjoyed the softness of beautiful skin now scratching uncomfortably at the lightly patterned black plastic of his armrests.

A sour tongue wriggled into Christopher’s mouth. The ribbon slipped further back in Christopher’s mouth, his own tongue attempting to retreat to reposition it, only for his uncle’s tongue to trap him, strong muscle dominating his every action, his every taste bud, rotten milk and heavy whiskey. Christopher wrinkled his nose slightly, eyes rolling to the side to try to see around his uncle.

He couldn’t make out much, especially when his uncle started pawing at his body, yanking his jacket down from his arms, off his body, then tearing his bow tie away in one swift motion. He could hear enough though to surmise that the party was now underway. Had he spent so much time with Luci that he’d missed the opening speeches, the greetings and invitations to sample the Godhead’s bountiful offspring and the offspring of all the uncles and aunts who’d so graciously brought along?

He should have paid more attention to how many had come through the entryway, to how many had witnessed his reunion then entered the ballroom to patiently wait for the buffet that was his body.

The ribbon rolled about in his mouth and Christopher thought again of the apple in the pig’s mouth. 

Breaking the kiss, the uncle leered down at him, lips shiny with spit, as he unbuttoned Christopher’s shirt. The buttons shined prettily, and Christopher itched at the armrests to resist playing with them, stopping only when the uncle lifted his wrists one at a time to properly work the sleeves away from his body. The uncle dropped to his knees, draped over Christopher’s lap for only a moment before he was sloppily sucking at his nipples.

It was tremendously boring. 

Christopher could finally see at least. Taking a moment to prod the ribbon back into the pocket of his cheek, he looked around. Surrounding him, multitudes of children of all ages, in various stages of undress, whimpered and trembled. The party was only just starting, then, if no one was visibly bleeding yet.

The cousins, realistically, took more damage than he or Godhead would, at least at this stage in their lives. Daddy wanted his playthings kept pristine, after all.

The uncle bit his nipple, and unzipped his pants. Christopher briefly looked down at him, the position of his head leaving his bald spot visible. Gross, he barely kept himself from saying, then swept his eyes around the space again. Everything was mostly more of the same landscape of debauchery he’d known since he was a toddler. The sight of one of the teens breastfeeding an infant while being sodomized by an uncle was rare, though not unheard of. Of course there were bound to be accidents. Children birthed of incest and despair.

If not for that, how would any of them exist, after all? Misery was a key ingredient in the creation of life, surely.

Or at least it was for the Idolodulia family.

Christopher’s body slipped to the edge of the chair again, roughly pulled as the uncle yanked at his pants. They finally breached free from his hips, slipping down to his ankles. 

His uncomfortable shoes were left on, even as his pants were taken off completely. Christopher stared at his shoelaces a moment, pushing up against his armrests to lift himself slightly to aid his uncle in removing his underwear.

Sitting there, nude save for his shoes and socks, Christopher rolled the ribbon around in his mouth and tried to think of anything but the hog on a spit that they’d be expected to consume the flesh of. 

He thought about Luci’s cock. Solid. Complete. Heavy. They were built like their twin, though he thought Godhead’s flesh was paler than the distinct pink hues that he’d admired in their skin.

And then he thought of Moses. Moses didn’t have a cock. Moses didn’t lack fullness and weight, of course, but his fullness was in his bust. His breasts were large, even when bound, and Christopher liked the moments when his brother would join him in bed and let him test the heft of them. Moses’ body was firm and solid, and his cunt was impossibly warm. It made Christopher feel good, to touch him, to be inside him, to penetrate him in any way he was allowed.

His favorite person in the whole entire world.

And then, finally, he felt compelled enough to think about his own body, if only to keep from thinking about the glassy eyes of the pig.

Christopher wasn’t sure how he felt about himself. He wasn’t sure if he had too much or too little, if he was overloaded with parts, or incomplete. 

The problem was he thought he was supposed to have a problem with himself. And he didn’t. The problem was, he liked his body. He liked his cock, small though it was. Small, less defined than Godhead’s, and lacking external testicles. He liked how it looked in comparison to his cunt, shallow and small as it was. He liked how it felt, how both of them felt in unison, the way he could distinctly feel different stages of arousal in different parts of himself. He liked, when Daddy had explained people like himself and the usual routes parents would take in cases like this, that Daddy had opted not to perform any sort of cosmetic ‘fixes’, that he’d had nothing taken away.

Hell, he even liked it when Godhead would playfully call him a freak. He liked how he looked at him every time with a head tilting sort of curiosity before he’d touch him, though such moments were exceedingly rare.

Christopher liked himself.

And that made him hate himself.

He didn’t quite know how to articulate any of it.

But at least it was a complex enough thought to distract him for just a moment, even as his uncle dropped his pants and began rubbing his chubby cock against Christopher’s inner thigh.

Where were Moses and Godhead? Christopher grunted slightly as his uncle drew back, grabbing him and lifting him out of the chair. His body felt helpless for several seconds before his back was laid against the nearest tabletop. Christopher stared up at the ceiling, until his vision was obstructed by his uncle leaning in and kissing him once more.

Disgusting.

Sighing, he let his mouth go lax, his uncle’s tongue wriggling about within his mouth, his cock rutting and bumping against his inner thighs. Christopher spread his legs, the ache of his perpetually sore, underdeveloped muscles nearly enough to make him whine. He was too well trained to do that, though. If he didn’t cry for Daddy, he certainly wasn’t going to cry for this fat, balding, sentient curdled sperm. 

It was as his uncle began to work his dick into him, pushing Christopher’s limp cock up with the back of his hand to better access his dry cunt, that he finally heard Moses.

Christopher turned his face to the side, cheek against the table as the stabbing pain of being penetrated rocked through his narrow insides. He clenched down against the fat prick inside him, as though straining to keep him out, though god knew there was nothing he was capable of doing to prevent anyone from hurting him if they really wanted to. His uncle sucked on one of his nipples again, briefly grating, briefly distracting, but Christopher quickly resolved to seek out the familiar breathless whimper he’d heard.

Moses was always so popular at the parties.

Today proved no different. Surrounded by no less than six uncles, Moses’ eyes were screwed shut, his hair--pulled back into a ponytail--swaying about with every thrust. Moses was seated, straddling one of the uncles in a chair, angled in such a way that Christopher could still clearly see the cock buried into his cunt, while another uncle stood behind him, stooped a little awkwardly so that his cock was in his ass. Both of Mo’s hands were occupied with cocks as well, weakly stroking them. A fifth uncle simply watched, stroking himself with the clear intent to get himself off onto Moses’ desperately pained body. The sixth uncle was still clothed, though he was palming his cock through his clothes, his free hand gently petting Mo’s face. He said something that Christopher couldn’t hear, Mo’s eyes opening at the words, a look of indignation and disgust on his face.

Moses didn’t appear to say anything in retaliation, but the look alone must have been an affront, reason enough for punishment, for he was slapped for it. Moses accepted the pain graciously, expression growing neutral, then outright serene. An inner peace, perhaps, or perhaps a defiance in a different direction.

Christopher watched the way his cunt was spread by the cock inside it, the way it took every inch. And then he abruptly jerked his face upward again, staring at the ceiling again, his heart racing almost as sharply as it had when he’d first met Moses.

This was different though. This was accompanied by nausea.

Moses’ body certainly wasn’t nauseating. Far from it.

That was the problem. He’d felt that tingling excitement in his cock, felt himself begin to harden. The uncle was fucking him more earnestly now, Christopher briefly coming back into awareness to feel the way he stretched and ached around him, before he let his attention drift elsewhere. The patterns in the ceiling. The twinkle of the chandelier. The soaked ribbon still in his mouth.

He wanted to close his eyes, but he’d see Moses in his mind if he did. And he didn’t like thinking about his brother like that, even if it was normal, even if this was what all the children were meant for. He batted his hands around the table, searching for any texture to rub his fingers against, but everything was smooth and clean. Immaculate.

He didn’t care for the slippery sensation against his bare skin.

But there was nothing he could do about that, or about anything else.

“Good boy, Chrissie.”

The voice was soft and familiar and husky. Christopher looked away from the ceiling, to see the way Daddy smiled down at him. He must have been making the rounds sociably, before he’d eventually settle in his throne to properly witness the bounty of his rule. Christopher reached out for him, and for a moment, he watched Daddy’s face soften.

His larger hands took Christopher’s small ones, individually kissing each fingertip. The uncle slowed briefly, even as Daddy shook his head.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He smiled at Christopher. “Right, sweetie? You want to make your uncle feel good, don’t you?”

Christopher knew he’d called him ‘your uncle’ rather than saying a name because, like Christopher, Daddy couldn’t remember this particular man’s name.

Christopher’s lips twitched slightly. He turned his face to the side, spitting the ribbon out in a saliva-soaked glob on the table in place of laughter, then looked at the uncle in question. “Feel good already, okay?”

“Uh. Okay then?” The uncle said oddly, squeezing Christopher’s hips and thrusting more deeply. Daddy looked at him for a moment, assessing, then looked down at Christopher.

“You’re being so strong and brave. Sweet little bun. Thank you for making your brother’s birthday so special.” He kissed him briefly, too briefly, not long enough for Christopher to fully outline every pattern on his lips, before he was carrying the clip of his footsteps away.

The uncle grunted as he finished inside him. It was unremarkable, a sting and an unpleasant warmth, and then he was wrenching himself out from within him. Christopher instinctively held out his arms, waiting to be lifted from the table and placed back in his chair. Disgusting man though he might be, Christopher still ultimately depended upon the assistance of others.

But the uncle ignored him, walking away as he pulled up his pants, already beginning conversation with some horsefaced woman. 

His arms remained outstretched for several moments longer than he intended, Christopher blinking and trying to assess the fact that he was left seated naked on the table. He wriggled his toes inside his shoes, glancing around to try to find his chair. If it was close enough, he supposed he could handle the hobble of pressure to limp and drag his way to his seat.

One of the younger uncles was seated in it, bouncing a prepubescent boy upon his cock. The child wailed, face pointed upward, mouth impossibly huge with every rasping wet sob. Christopher withered against the table, his arms finally dropping, as he looked around. Moses was too occupied. He couldn’t find Godhead. Daddy had already lost himself in the crowd, or perhaps in his throne.

Oh.

There was his mother.

Lilith looked bored, her lipstick immaculate against her perpetually frowning lips. A teen girl bent before her, hands placed against the wall, as Lilith fingered her from behind. Occasionally, that bored mouth of hers would place lipstick marks against the girl’s spine, before drawing back to give some sort of command or other, minute adjustments barely noted in the girl’s posture. Christopher couldn’t hear over the instrumentals of the live band, or the chatter of his uncles and aunts, or the wailing of the defiled cousins. 

It was all more than he thought he could handle. He blinked, dismayed to find moisture collecting on the edge of his eyes. He needed to look at Moses again. But he’d lost track of time somehow, and by the time he was able to remember which direction Moses had been in, Moses was no longer there, that particular cluster having already wandered off. 

Another uncle soon sought him out, flipping him onto his stomach and using his ass. Christopher grabbed the edge of the table and tried to remember all the variations of the word “fuck” Godhead had taught him a few years back, all the different languages and the subtle changes in weight to that particular brand of profanity in those cultures.

“This is useless information, and more profane than I’d normally care to indulge in,” Godhead had said casually, “But you’re a teenager now, and I suppose it’s something teenage boys might find amusing.”

“Why?” Christopher had replied.

“I don’t know.” Had been Godhead’s response.

And Christopher still wasn’t sure how it was amusing. But it had been a nice afternoon.

He counted his teeth with his tongue four different times before this uncle finished inside him.

And then a third had him curled onto his side, stretching his leg up by holding his ankle upward in his hand, fucking his cunt. Christopher hated this position the most of the three he’d gone through, if only for the way it felt as though his leg would tear from the socket. He knew it would stay hurting in phantom remnants of this position for weeks after the party had subsided.

He wasn’t sure how many hours he lost track of before he found himself being pulled from the table. Whoever it was pulled him to the ground, then shoved him until he was underneath the table he’d just been seated on moments earlier, the tablecloth blanketing him from view.

Christopher looked upward, taking in the lines in the wood of the underside of the table. It was dark under here, and thought about how the lines in a tree were supposed to indicate age. He wondered if he was full of rings to indicate his maturity if someone were to saw him in half.

He wasn’t sure if he felt too old or too young right now. But he felt tired, and sore, and confused, as one of his legs was tugged out from the divider of the tablecloth. With his foot out from underneath the table, he felt a slight tug and jostling, then release as his shoe was pulled away. His sock rolled off in a similar fashion. Christopher wriggled his toes, tilting his head, as his other foot was pulled towards the mysterious source as well.

He didn’t even think to lift the curtain to see who it might be, until the curtain rustled, and Godhead was crawling underneath as well.

The space was small, the two of them seated, naked and covered in cum, Godhead draping an arm around him, as Christopher wearily rested his cheek against his brother’s shoulder.

“We’ll have to go back out soon,” Godhead said softly. “But you looked like you needed to breathe.”

“Hi,” Christopher said in response. As though it were any sort of answer to that at all. His brother thought he needed to breathe. So he’d swooped in somehow and given him a chance to do just that.

And instead of confirming that it was the right choice, or thanking him, or properly articulating how much he loved him, all he could say was ‘hi’.

Shame.

“Hello,” Godhead said, resting his lips briefly against the top of Christopher’s head. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it was somehow better than one might have felt. 

They’d go back soon enough. This was only the first day of a three day party, after all. Their siblings were still out there, being witnessed and used and broken, and soon they too would be back in that cycle. They’d remember how to breathe through the trauma, they’d remember how to suffer without causing a scene, or to at least cause a scene the grown ups would adore.

But right now, all they needed to do was exist together. Christopher hugged his arms around Godhead’s midsection, tilting his head to dig his teeth softly into his shoulder.

His brother’s voice was swollen with affection. “Freak.”

Christopher smiled.


	5. The Patriarch

This was all a labor of love.

A shame, really, that those so caught up in such affection had too narrow of a worldview to understand it yet.

It wasn’t that Archelaus was unaware of how that could feel. He’d been a child himself once upon a time. Had it really been so long ago? It certainly felt like a separate lifetime than this one. Caught up in watching sibling after sibling succumb to the wrath of his father. He certainly wasn’t the first choice in heir, but when so few survived, what else could his father do?

To think there had been a time when Archelaus had been bitter at the sudden change in his fate. To think he’d once considered it a curse, to be primed for power. To think there had once been a time in his life where he’d just wanted to sing quietly with his mother, where he’d just wanted to play shadow puppets with his brother, where he’d considered it a good day just to survive, to be able to lay in his bed and count his breaths and feel his heartbeat, to know someday he’d be married off but hopefully his new life would result in fewer bruises than his current life.

Being an heir meant prolonged time with his father, after all, and his father’s brand of reckless, undignified cruelties. The filth of his degradation still made Archelaus feel greasy and untouchable some nights.

But then, he was supposed to be untouchable, wasn’t he?

He was, after all, the Godhead.

And even if it had been a rocky acceptance, he hadn’t just learned to accept it: he’d learned to love it. To thrive. To make a true legacy for himself. And when the time came for his Christian to face him in one final moment of glory and inheritance, he would fight to the very end with warmth in his chest that he’d created exactly the sort of family to be proud of in this modern era of Idolodulia family history.

He would die willingly, happily, so that his own son could finally thrive too.

Of course, now wasn’t a time for morbid ponderings of the future of the family. Now was a time to celebrate what they had now. The final day of festivities in the name of his darling eldest.

Christian had been such a sickly boy. Almost perpetually bedridden, feverish, weak. But Archelaus had known, even then, that his disposition made him perfect to rule. Certainly more than Lucifer could hope to.

They were both too soft. But Christian’s brand of softness could be masked, molded, sharpened. Taking Lucifer away, that had been a perfect chance to begin his sculpting.

Giving him back, on the other hand…

Lucifer had been removed from his cage every night, gifted to Moses to be cleaned up. And every morning, the staff would retrieve him from his twin’s bed to be returned to his enclosure. It was a new sort of solitude, ensnared with an audience. Archelaus had thought it would make for a lovely exhibit, and it certainly did.

It had also seemed a nice way to reintroduce him to the parties. Surely it would be cruel, after all, to thrust him directly into the action after a good 15 years of dark and loneliness.

Part of Archelaus kept up the mental debate that he might put Lucifer back in the basement after all of this was done. Part of him kept up the debate that he might execute Lucifer, or force Christian to execute him. Part of him really truly believed there was any hope of being able to go back to the Old Normal.

Archelaus passed the cage, watching briefly as Lucifer squirmed against the spike lodged within him. Each day seemed to compel him further. Today, he wasn’t even clutching the handrail chains above him, one hand instead wrapped around his ribboned cock, the other loosely pressed against the ground of the cage to center himself. He carelessly bobbed himself up and down against the spike, drooling upon himself, as a captive audience made lewd comments. That made Archelaus smile.

They also laughed.

That made Archelaus frown.

These events were for many things. Consumption. Bartering. Power. Stress relief. The simple pleasure of showing off.

They most certainly were not about mockery.

Or, at least, they were not about mockery when it came to Archelaus’--to the Godhead’s--children.

He moved towards the cage, the laughter seeming to expand for a few seconds, then shrivel all at once at the sight of him pulling the key from his pocket. Why had he let Lucifer upstairs in the first place? Certainly it had to do with molding Christian, he reminded himself as he fit the key into the lock. 

Lucifer blinked, eyes bleary and uncertain, as the door swung open. His hand stilled, but remained cradling his cock.

Molding Christian, Archelaus told himself. Or rewarding him, perhaps. Or confusing him. Or-

It had all made so much more sense when he’d ordered the staff to fetch Lucifer and clean him up in the light of day. A fun little game, becoming all too real now that he realized he still needed to catch up with his own justifications.

“Come here, little bird,” He said, grasping Lucifer’s wrist and guiding his hand away from himself. His son blinked, a few tears trickling. It was very cute, and it even made Archelaus laugh a little. But certainly it wasn’t mockery.

He was just too cute.

Using the key, he unlocked the chains from Lucifer’s ankles. And then, gingerly, he lifted him up, pulling his body from the spike within him. This morning’s application of lubricant aided in the movement, Lucifer whimpering faintly as he was left empty. Archelaus slipped his frail, malnourished body from the cage, cradling him bridal style, then glancing at his guests--the ones his children referred to as Aunts and Uncles, though certainly none of them were Archelaus’ actual siblings (of the two who’d survived their shared childhood, only one was of sound enough mind to even consider coming, but certainly wouldn’t trek so far just for a simple birthday celebration).

“Showtime is, regrettably, over for the evening, gentlemen. But I’m certain my other children would be happy to entertain while I tend to this one’s post-performance blues.”

A few quips tangled on his tongue, ready for someone to accuse him of being too soft. When the barbs failed to come, he swallowed the acid of his words, and grinned.

“Plus, I must confess, it’s been too many years since I’ve tasted this one, and I’m simply parched.”

This drew laughter from the crowd, but unlike before, this was acceptable. There was no mockery, simply the worship at Archelaus’ wit that a ruler was fit to enjoy. He smiled, all the wider at the way Lucifer whimpered (as though his own father wouldn’t hear his distress! Adorable, how untrained he was), and then strode out of the entryway, opposite the ballroom.

Passing through the halls, he felt the way Lucifer shook in his arms. Truly a remarkable, powerful feeling, to have him quaking for him.

“Da...father-”

“You can still call me daddy,” Archelaus breathed. Only Christopher indulged him such sweetness. But Lucifer had been so young when he’d been locked away, perhaps the urge was still in him. Daddy. He could train him. That was the wonderful thing about breaking your toys in the end. You could take all the pieces and rebuild them into any pattern you wanted afterwards.

Unfortunately, whatever Lucifer intended to say, Archelaus’ wife had to interrupt.

The sharp line of Lilith’s mouth seemed all the more pronounced with the gentle femininity of her pretty features. Acidically beautiful, his Bride hardly looked a day older than the moment he’d slaughtered her former fiancee and swept her from Japan to make her His.

Of course, Archelaus’ cock was well aware that she was several days older than that. Several years, in fact. The amount of performance enhancements and advanced turkey basting techniques it had taken to produce the lovely brood of children they’d managed was truly astronomical.

Lilith might have been the most immaculate woman Archelaus had ever seen, and it was indeed an honor to be able to parade her around as his Bride. But in the end, she simply wasn’t a vulnerable little boy.

One simply couldn’t have it all.

“How did I know you’d disrupt things prematurely?” She scowled at him in a way that could have easily resulted in a shallow grave for anyone else.

The liberties he afforded truly were evidence of his grace and forgiveness.

“Oh, relax, the guests have had three days to watch him fuck himself in the cage. If I want some of my own, that’s my prerogative. After all, it may not be my birthday, but it’s my party-” and he’d orally fuck his son if he wanted to, or whatever it was that Leslie Gore song was saying. 

“It’s selfish, Archie.” She clipped his name in an attempt to assault his dignity. It was a cute attempt.

A shame he’d grown fond of it. Archie. It was quirky, cute, a name he could almost consider himself introducing himself as in society outside of their bubble. Hello my name is Archie, and can you believe this weather we’ve been having? 

It tickled him. The common people, they really did have a way of socializing.

“And your point?”

“Other people would like to enjoy it, but you kept it caged up all weekend, and now you’re going to soil it yourself.”

“I’m not soiling anything. I’m bonding with my son. You’re welcome to join us.”

But oh he hoped he was right in his assumptions that she wouldn’t.

“Absolutely not.”

He barely managed not to sigh in relief. “There’s always Moses-”

“Josephine was such a beautiful girl that you had to allow to ruin herself with your little...your little...your liberalminded gender experimenting bullshit.”

Archelaus raised an eyebrow. “I’m certain Moses didn’t change his name or his gender on my account. Though it is a fascinating thing to witness, I must say. I wonder how many children our Christian will demand of him before he’ll allow him any sort of surgical intervention.” Oh, he ached for a moment to be able to live long enough to witness that.

Ah well. Sacrifices for the greater good. Traditions and all.

“You promised me a daughter.”

“You made assumptions of my words, Lili-pad. Though I suppose I could always chop little Lucifer up here, mutilate him to fit your whims.” He grinned down at his son. “Can you imagine this one with breasts?”

Both Lilith and Lucifer were quiet a moment, Lilith’s face briefly contemplative, while Lucifer’s was, to Archelaus’ eyes, completely unreadable.

It was, he supposed, a fairly unfunny joke. Archelaus sighed. Not everything could land properly. “At any rate, I’ll be back to join the festivities soon enough, dearest. I’m sure you can find some pretty young thing to occupy those manicured fingers of yours, hm?” He leaned forward, kissing his wife’s cheek, just to feel her face twitch with the intensity of her glare. Pulling back, she walked away, the bottom hem of her petticoated dress shifting this way and that with every step.

“Your mommy truly is a spiteful bitch,” Archelaus said blissfully. He took another turn, opening the nearest guest bedroom and stepping inside. “Do you remember her well?”

“A little.”

Archelaus was pleasantly surprised at his response. He had wondered if Lucifer would be too frightened or overwhelmed to speak, or too angry as Christian so often would be when he was smaller and more prone to his father’s perverse love. 

Oh, how he wanted to tell Christian that it wasn’t that he’d grown undesirable, or that he’d gotten too big even. But it was just too dangerous to balance the sensuality of obsession with the rigorous demands of training. But his heir upbringing was winding down, and Archelaus was, once more, allowed to admire the slope of his neck and the bow of his lips and the bitterness in his eyes.

And his soft ass.

Fascinating. He certainly was the oldest he’d ever found himself attracted to, though perhaps it was different when you made them yourself.

He supposed that made Lucifer an anomaly too, considering he was the same age as his twin. But it was different. Lucifer was so newly reacquired. Certainly Archelaus could have ventured into the basement more frequently and used him, but he’d stopped after he was...oh, 10? 11? Truthfully, he couldn’t recall, it wasn’t too pressing a concern for him.

But it was definitely time to relearn him. 

“You were her favorite. Maybe it’s cruel of me, to always take away her favorite things.” Archelaus pondered it only a moment before he was laying Lucifer upon the bed. His son gently pulled himself up on the mattress, collapsing backwards with a little pant, chest rising and falling, as his head rested against the mound of pillows. He looked at Archelaus with so much fear, yet no animosity, no hatred.

It was very cute, he decided, and Archelaus crawled onto the bed, kneeling at Lucifer’s side. He brushed his fingers slowly up and down his side, over his sharpened ribs. He hadn’t thought anyone could be thinner than Christian until now.

“I don’t think I could be anyone’s favorite, f--daddy.”

The name coupled with the innocent self-loathing was enough to make Archelaus’ chest burst. Such a lovely sentiment. “Nonsense. Christian certainly fawns over you, doesn’t he? And Moses has already taken a liking to you.” He, admittedly, was unsure of where Christopher’s head was when it came to him. Every night after the parties, he was so contorted with pain that it took everything just to get him settled back in his chair enough to be carted back to his bedroom.

How Archelaus loved his little bun-bun. But he’d think about Chrissie later. Right now, he needed to focus on the here and now. 

Lucifer opened his mouth as though he was going to retort, or perhaps even thank him, but he quickly closed his mouth again. His cheeks lightly rouged, while his limbs trembled. His feet pointed inward towards each other childishly. 

“What is it? If you’re afraid I’ll punish you just for speaking then...well, then you might be correct, but I’m feeling generous today. What is it?”

“I...I don’t know.” Lucifer finally said. “I just...this is a lot. What are you going to do with me?”

“You mean after the party?”

“Uh huh.”

He’d need to retrain Lucifer in proper speech, he idly noted. But that was neither here nor there. How was he to answer that? 

He truly needed to come up with a proper plan. Not just so he’d know whether or not he was answering honestly when he spoke to Lucifer, but so he’d know how to recalibrate his own plans when it came to all of his sons, to himself, to the family at large, to his legacy.

“What would you like to happen after the party?”

“I want to stay upstairs.” Lucifer blurted the honest answer out. Whether it was a foolish thing or a wise thing, even Archelaus couldn’t be sure.

But it certainly was charming.

“Lovely boy,” Archelaus mused. He slipped his hand around him, rubbing his palm over his stomach, only to raise his hand, gently stroking over his chest. “And why is that?”

“I miss everyone. I’ve missed everything. I want to...I want to live, daddy.”

“I see.”

“Are you going to lock me up again? I’d...I’d rather die. I’d rather die! You could carve me up instead, like you said you might.”

“You don’t have a choice either way,” Archelaus pointed out. His hand rested against the left side of his chest, Lucifer’s nipple pressing against his palm. The hardness of it prompted him to glance over him more analytically. Nipples perked, and cock still hard. Ah, yes, he had been heavily stimulated for several days now. And the fear likely had an arousing component to it as well.

It was very sweet, no matter what the reasoning. Archelaus lifted his palm away, then used his fingers instead to pinch and pluck at his nipple, teasing it about. He stopped pinching, only to instead brush his thumb along it, casually strumming. 

“And when I said I’d carve you, I specifically meant I’d emasculate you. Feminize you. Your mother so wanted a daughter.” And adopting Moses had been an attempt, at least partially, to satisfy that urge.

Well, more than that, it had been a status symbol move. But getting a little girl certainly had other benefits, one of them being Lilith’s own perverted preferences.

Things didn’t always work out. She needed to let it go. Archelaus circled his thumb around Lucifer’s nipple and listened to the hitch in his breathing, the physical attempts to stifle any noises.

“Does that frighten you? Thinking about me giving you breasts? Taking away your cock?”

“No,” Lucifer said. This time, he couldn’t hide anything, the moan in his voice unmistakable.

It could have been a show of bravery, he supposed. But Lucifer had already displayed such small signs of self-destructive honesty that Archelaus suspected otherwise. 

“It doesn’t?” He adjusted himself against the bed, unfolding his legs, leaning back until he was laying on the pillow beside Lucifer. He stopped teasing his nipple, resting his hand for a moment and just feeling the warmth of his body. “I could modify you into something dainty and unrecognizable. Is that what you want? Do you want me to destroy the man you’ve become?”

Silly. He hadn’t become a man at all. Lucifer was still a scared little boy, no matter what his age chronologically.

But he certainly moaned as though he had adult desires. Or, perhaps, the moaning had more to do with a deeper, less sexual sort of longing. Archelaus leaned his cheek against the pillow, watching the little shifts in his child’s expressions, joy, wonder, excitement, intrigue, curiosity, nervousness yes, but no fear.

“You have no clue what you are, do you, Lucifer?” Archelaus mused, though even he felt a touch of uncertainty as he said it. Lucifer looked at him, wide eyed, as though suddenly hyperaware of just who he was lying beside.

Lucifer tried to sit up, but Archelaus pushed against him, keeping him pinned down. His butterfly on display. His pretty little birdy.

“My angel,” Archelaus said as he sat up again, placing his hands on either side of Lucifer’s body, keeping him pinned underneath him. “Do you want to be my little girl?”

“I don’t know,” He said softly.

There was so much to ponder, to test, to study.

But all Archelaus wanted now was to taste.

Lucifer kissed Archelaus back almost immediately, every inch of his touchstarved frame leaning up into his father’s larger form. Shaking hands clutched at his shoulders, occasionally twitching as though longing to push him away, but never actually following through.

Archelaus worked his tongue into his son’s mouth, or his daughter’s mouth, or whatever mouth this might be, and couldn’t wipe the grin from his own lips all the while. It occurred to him that Lucifer might, perhaps, not want to have his exploration of self be an object of fetishization and desire for his father’s consumption.

But what was Lucifer’s was, ultimately, Archelaus’ too. And if he wanted to take his everything and turn it into an orgasm opportunity, who was going to stop him? Certainly not this frail child.

And anyway, it seemed to make him feel good too to be called a little girl. And wasn’t that generous, for Archelaus to give that to him?

“Please don’t fuck me, Daddy,” Lucifer panted as the kiss broke. His blush crawled down his face, over his neck and spilling onto his chest. “Please don’t fuck me. It hurts. Everything hurts.”

“I know.” Archelaus brushed his thumb over Lucifer’s lips. “I know. It all must hurt so terribly.”

He’d said he wanted a blowjob. And that really had been his desire.

But with Lucifer admitting to how much pain he was in, how much he didn’t want to be fucked, it was growing increasingly hard to get himself to be satisfied with just that idea alone.

That being said, he did have a lovely mouth. It had tasted gorgeous while they’d kissed, lips full and tongue satin. He pushed his thumb into Lucifer’s mouth, stroking it against his tongue, then grasping it abruptly. He tugged it out of his mouth, staring at it. Did he want to experience it against his cock?

Or did he want to fuck him fully?

Lucifer tried to retract his tongue and, though it was slippery, Archelaus tightened his hold, keeping it clamped between thumb and fingers. “I just don’t know what to do with you,” He admitted. “I know we’ll have a lifetime to decide. But I want to ensure you remember this weekend forever.”

He released his tongue, finally, and watched as Lucifer pulled it back into his mouth, swallowing, his lips quivering.

“How could I ever forget?”

“You’d be surprised what the human mind can cloak,” Archelaus’ expression briefly darkened. The inside of his skull was murky and thunderous. But it passed just as quickly, as he smiled, kissing Lucifer once more. He rolled his body down against him, felt his clothed form brush over Lucifer’s hardness. 

It would be interesting to take him into the labs and experiment upon his body. To remove or invert, to modify. To mold.

Lucifer had been the chisel for so long, a tool to sculpt at Christian’s psyche bit by bit. It’d be fascinating to turn the instrument into the art itself.

Archelaus hadn’t the time. There was an active party commencing in the ballroom. He had three other children that he’d need to check upon before the night was through. And he had a raging hard-on that was demanding attention. He stroked his hand against Lucifer’s cheek, felt him briefly nuzzle against him. His face was wet. Had he stopped crying once all weekend?

He unbuckled his pants, opening the front button and slipping down his zipper. With some small adjustments and movements, he was finally able to coax his hard cock out, while keeping the rest of his body clothed. It felt comical, to present himself this way, but he certainly had no reason to fully expose himself, not when time was so pressing, and not when Lucifer certainly hadn’t earned such an act of fully processed vulnerability.

They were still courting each other, after all. And if Lucifer couldn’t even know himself yet, he certainly hadn’t earned the right to fully know his father.

But he supposed he’d earned a taste. Just a taste.

He straddled Lucifer’s body, pulling himself onto his knees once again, and steadily climbing up the bed, knees moving on either side of his body until he was just centered over his neck. The shadow of his body cast over Lucifer’s fearful face, head trying to move up away from the pillows.

Archelaus placed a finger against his forehead, forcing his head back down. “Just lay there, Lucifer. I’ll do all the work, you just need to be a good boy and not bite.”

“I-”

“Because if you do bite, not only will I pluck out all of your teeth, but I’ll yank out Christian’s as well just to ensure that you two remain a matching pair. Do you understand?”

Lucifer’s entire lower jaw shook with the intensity of how hard he was trying to hold in his sobs. “Yes, daddy,” He blubbered.

Archelaus rested the tip of his cock against Lucifer’s shaking chin, as he used his thumbs to dry his eyes.

“There’s no need to be so glum about it. Don’t you want to be a useful member of the family?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Now I’m sure you’ve done this for Christian already, or if you haven’t, I’m certain you’ve at least thought about it, haven’t you? Of course you have. A sweet little thing like you? You’re built to please.” Archelaus moved a bit closer, rocking his hips forth, so that the head of his cock rested against Lucifer’s lips. He felt his lips twitch beneath him, and smirked. “Just curl your lips over those teeth and relax your jaw, won’t you? Yes, of course you will. You wouldn’t even think of disobeying daddy, would you, Luci, dear? That’s my good little fallen angel. Just do as I say and we’ll end your birthday on a high note, won’t we?”

Archelaus lifted himself slightly, pulling his cock away from Lucifer’s mouth, watching eagerly to see how long it would take him to obey. 

Lucifer sniffled, his eyes turned to the side, as his mouth opened. His tongue briefly swept over his lips, before his lips curled around his teeth just slightly, tongue quivering as it retreated back behind his teeth. Once again, he started to lift his head, and once again Archelaus stopped him, this time grabbing his hair and using it as an anchor to pin his head against the pillow.

Archelaus’ cock throbbed as he shuffled himself into a good position. The hand that wasn’t against his son’s hair pressed instead against the headboard, as he tilted his body, the tip of his cock narrowing in on Lucifer’s opened mouth.

He eased himself in slowly, more to test the heat of him than out of any sense of protective instincts.

Lucifer’s lips twitched against him, stretching around him as Archelaus moved himself deeper into the tight wetness of his mouth. The headboard creaked under the pressure, and Archelaus grinned in a way that couldn’t even begin to be described as dignified. He forced himself forward, listening as Lucifer gurgled beneath him. He tightened the hold on his hair, squeezing the soft black locks.

“That’s it. You’re doing so good, sweetie. Look at you. You were made to suck cock, baby. I knew it the moment I first held you. Oh, what a pretty little baby you were. I couldn’t wait until you were big enough for me to put my dick in your soft little mouth.”

Lucifer’s lips clenched around him, a dangerous tightness, barely cushioning against his teeth just underneath. Archelaus beamed, rocking himself fully inside, then drawing back. Slow, dragging himself along the pillow of his tongue. “No wonder Christian’s missed you so much. He knows exactly what I know. Exactly what you’re good for.”

He thrust back into his mouth, and listened to the muffled scream this jerked from Lucifer. He eyed his expression, eyes now wide and fixed upward. Tears streamed unbidden from his blue eyes, his lashes matted and spindly from the intensity of the constant tears.

What could Archelaus do when gifted such a pretty face but fuck it, honestly? He might have been the Godhead, but in the end, he really was only a mortal man.

Lucifer sobbed around him as he fucked his mouth, the soft heaves of his gag reflex thrilling Archelaus everytime he tickled it. It was a dangerous game--would he suffocate? Would he vomit?--but one he was all too willing to keep playing. On and on he fucked him into the pillow, Lucifer’s body giving the lightest of thrashes underneath him.

He wanted to cum in his mouth but, as the need presented itself, Archelaus decided on more artful shows of his affection.

Pulling himself out of Lucifer’s mouth, his cock was coated in thick globs of saliva, dripping from his shaft. He grasped at himself, around the ample fluid, and stroked himself once, twice, before he sighed softly in his climax. He came upon Lucifer’s face, staining his cheeks, his lips, his nose. Lucifer blinked, or perhaps wisely closed his eyes, and his left eyelid was caked in the process. The right one opened on its own moments after, peering up at Archelaus with so much misery that, for a moment, Archelaus’ smile froze.

He thought of the afternoons his own father would perch him in the corner, covered in the cum of himself and the staff, how he’d refuse to allow him to clean himself up. The filth of the aftermath had almost been worse than the rape itself. Another mark of his lowness. Pitiful. Disgusting. Dirty.

Archelaus kissed Lucifer’s forehead, staining his lips with his own cum. He drew back, pulling his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He should have removed it after all, he thought, as he reflected on how stuffy he felt underneath his own clothes. Shaking the cloth out, he used the monogrammed fabric to gently wipe away the semen from his child’s face. 

When he was cleaned, though, he had to kiss him again. After all, he needed Lucifer to clean him up in return, given the cum he’d gotten onto his own mouth in the process. 

Lucifer’s tongue diligently moved against Archelaus’ lips as they kissed, perhaps on pure instinct alone. He felt him recoil at the taste, and tugged on his hair to keep him pressed close until he was certain he’d savored in the taste of it long enough. Archelaus finally released him, pulling himself away, flopping beside Lucifer on the mattress and catching his own breath.

Funny. He’d been so fascinated by the aesthetics that he’d barely even registered the physical sensation of his own orgasm. Sometimes they felt so distant, like an experience completely outside of himself. He knew he’d enjoyed the blowjob, certainly, but it seemed to transcend such physical limitations as arousal and orgasm.

He smiled at Lucifer, reaching over to pet his hair for just a moment, strumming the strands he’d kinked and creased with the intensity of his grip. And then, just as suddenly, he was tugging himself back into his pants.

“I suppose your mother had a point. I really should be attending to the party. And, if I was truly responsible, I’d be taking you back with me to be enjoyed for the last few hours.”

Lucifer didn’t seem to have the energy to even cringe, though he at least had the decency to look miserable at the prospect. His sad eyes glanced at Archelaus for just a moment, before looking down.

“But,” Archelaus said, “I’ll allow you to have a moment to yourself. After all, solitude is all you’ve known for so long, I’m certain it’s been overwhelming being so seen. I won’t be so giving for our next family gathering, mind you, but just this once.”

“You...you’re going to let me stay in here?” Lucifer said, voice equal parts raspy and incredulous. 

“In here, in your room, wherever you’d rather be, truly. It’s none of my concern. This is your house too, after all. You should, as they say, make yourself at home.” Archelaus sat up, smoothing his hair and eying his handkerchief for a moment. Too filthy. He draped it over Lucifer’s stomach. “You keep this. A token of my appreciation.” He laughed a little at his own show of chivalry, before he was swinging his legs off the bed, rising to his feet.

“Rest well, my precious fallen angel. I will be expecting you at breakfast tomorrow morning. There’s just so much catching up we all must do.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, and forced himself not to take another backwards glance. He’d have months, if not years, to enjoy the image of Lucifer, to enjoy the beginnings at least of his journey into becoming who he’d someday be.

For now, he needed to reorient himself with the outside world--or rather, the very insular world of this party, this family, this empire he ruled so perfectly.

Returning to the ballroom after the calm of the guest bedroom took a moment of adjustment. He sought out his throne, taking a seat and watching around him as his guests swapped children and cruelties. 

Briefly, he caught sight of Christian.

Christian was still wearing the upper half of his clothing, or at least the button up white shirt and his black tie. One hand was knotted around his tie, the other very loosely pressed against the woman’s head. Archelaus briefly tried to recall her name, giving up instead as he watched the way she tried to blow his son’s flaccid cock. One of her long nailed fingers was deep inside him, clearly trying to massage his prostate as she worked, but it seemed to have little effect.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. Christian could be so stubborn sometimes.

Glancing around, he tried to catch sight of his other two children. Moses, being the trophy he was, always proved incredibly popular. Usually all Archelaus had to do was seek out the biggest crowd of men, and Moses would be found somewhere in the middle.

But at least right now, his point continued to be disproven.

It was sheer chance that he happened to catch the door to the staff kitchen open, and the silvery spokes of Christopher’s chair glistening as he wheeled himself within.

There was a small chance that he’d gone in on his own, that he was simply getting a snack.

But Archelaus knew his Chrissie better than that. On the third day of a party, he almost certainly wouldn’t be capable of preparing himself anything--hell, on a non-party day, he wouldn’t be capable of preparing himself anything.

Archelaus gave it a few minutes before he rose from his throne. He allowed himself a few more minutes to engage in casual greetings and conversations, blessings bestowed upon branches of the family who’d proven particularly useful, entertaining suggestions that he had no intention of actually remembering, complimenting children who weren’t nearly cute enough to actually tickle his fancy.

Once he was away from them, his first instinct was to stride into the staff kitchen directly.

But he thought better of it, veering instead towards the second door. Out into a hallway, and towards the elevator. Riding to a lower level of the house, he finally made his way to the security room, slipping inside and dismissing the security guards who had congregated in here. 

A few adjustments of audio and video later, and he had everything he needed to focus squarely on the third level staff kitchen.

Christopher was seated on the center island, undressed and filthy with semen and blood. The cameras brought the images in full color, as though Archelaus were watching a professional film of the forbidden moment between his two youngest children.

“Hurts,” Christopher said, voice sharp as though he were immediately bitter with himself for admitting it.

“I know, honey.”

Moses was just as naked as Christopher and, perhaps, even more notably bruised, or at least more consistently bruised. While Christopher had sharp, purple bruises against his thighs and hips, Moses’ entire form was punctuated with them. The difference was his darker complexion allowed them to blend easier.

That or, perhaps, he just wore his pain more regally.

Moses walked around the island, towards the stove, grabbing a dish towel that was hanging from the handle carelessly. He folded it up, gently propping it underneath Christopher’s head as a makeshift pillow. The simple act seemed enough to get Christopher to relax back, laying against the surface as though it were just another bed.

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Moses cupped his face in both hands. The size of Moses’ palms seemed to dwarf Christopher’s face. It made Archelaus smile. “Nothing. It shouldn’t be like this.”

A strange sentiment to have. Things had always been this way, far longer than Archelaus had been alive. And they’d be this way still long after he was gone. Change was an inevitability for the outside world, yes, but the Idolodulias lived in a world beyond time, beyond the inevitable.

They were the inevitable. Everything else would bend to their whim.

“Hurts,” Christopher repeated. His serious expression remained as unchangeably deadpan, unshakably neutral, even now, even as he insisted on his own pain. 

Moses stepped away again, rummaging through a drawer and returning with yet another dish towel. “I know.” He kissed Christopher’s temple. “It’s almost over. We can watch some cartoons tonight and have Oreos. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“No.” 

Archelaus knew. He knew Chrissie. And he knew he wasn’t trying to be difficult. He watched as his son’s eyes moved back and forth, surveying, then looking at Moses. “Maybe tomorrow though.” An offering, a compromise, an attempt to make it clear to Moses that he wasn’t trying to be hard to deal with, that he didn’t want to make things more difficult.

He wanted to be a good boy.

Finding the right words was just so impossible some days.

Archelaus thought of his own childhood, and felt his throat clench uncomfortably. The attempts to find appeasement in vocalization. Words had always had a fleetingly incomplete feel to them.

It hardly mattered to think of such things now. He was big now. Big, strong, powerful, had mastered not only this language but several others, if only through brute studiousness rather than the natural talent he knew Christian had when it came to linguistics. 

“Whatever you’d like, sweetie,” Moses spoke without a shred of exhaustion, without a hint of dejection. His brown eyes were warm, if a little sad. He brushed a strand of his own long hair from his face--a face which looked fully naked without his glasses--then combed his fingers through Christopher’s hair after. He leaned in, kissing his forehead this time, then rising, fiddling with the dish towel a moment. “Do you think you’ll feel better if I clean you up a little bit?”

“Please,” Christopher insisted.

Moses spread Christopher’s legs apart. His intersex body never failed to captivate Archelaus, even in digital format like this. He admired the softness of his small cock just a moment, before Moses’ movements offset the sight. 

Moses gently wiped the towel over Christopher’s inner thighs. The dry cloth soaked up the filth which had coated itself upon him. Mostly semen, though he’d clearly bled. Archelaus leaned a little nearer to the screen, trying to pinpoint the exact source. Was it only vaginal bleeding today, or anally as well? He suspected given the amount of blood along his legs, both inner thighs and the backs of his legs as well, that it must be both.

It wasn’t surprising, or even saddening. If anything, it excited Archelaus to admire how delicate Chrissie could be. 

Still, he much preferred to make him bleed himself. He hoped whoever had split him tonight had at least taken the time to admire the luxury of it. To appreciate the gift of it. To at least tell Christopher how pretty he was when he suffered, to at least give him a little kiss and a pat on the head and a thank you.

Though, given the sight of the guests this evening, he highly doubted any of them had offered proper courtesy.

Moses pulled away after a bit, going to the sink and rinsing the cloth. Wringing it until Archelaus suspected it was merely damp, he returned to Christopher, softly massaging the cloth along his legs once more.

Christopher sighed softly, eyes closing. His fingers clenched and unclenched rhythmically, almost like a cat kneading, though he wasn’t pressing at any particular surface. 

“Does that feel okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’d say, wouldn’t you? If I was hurting you?”

“Yes.”

Moses, Archelaus thought, certainly wouldn’t, if the roles were reversed. In fact, he could tell with how Moses’ legs occasionally wobbled, with the little trickles of semen that would dislodge and trail down the backs of his own muscular thighs, that he was almost certainly in agony even now.

Such a strange quirk to pick up from the outside world. It certainly wasn’t something he’d have learned here, that much Archelaus was certain of. He’d make for an interesting Bride to say the least.

Once again, he felt a quiver of sadness that he’d never truly get to witness Moses’ brand of adulthood. Eventually Christian would get his act together and arrange a wedding, or Moses would arrange it and have the grace to allow Christian to act as though it were all his planning that had manifested it. And Moses would enter a new phase of intensive training for ambassadorial and other Bridal duties from then until the moment Christian decided to claim his title properly and end Archelaus, or have himself ended by Archelaus in the process.

Life really was too short.

But Archelaus definitely took the time to smell the roses, as it were, as he made his way through this brief, messy, beautiful journey.

“Hurt?” Christopher questioned, placing a hand on top of one of Moses’. With his position, he likely couldn’t see the trembling, or perhaps couldn’t comprehend it.

And Moses had perfected his lying smile for too many years for Christopher to have any sort of chance of unraveling it. “No, sweetie, I’m alright.”

“No,” Christopher said softly. “You’re not.”

It seemed to surprise Moses just as much as it surprised Archelaus.

“I--of course I’m-”

“Hurt. Always hurt.” Christopher squeezed the back of Moses’ hand, his dark eyes flickering over Moses’ face as though trying to search for the right words within his expression, or perhaps just trying to figure out the right place to look to fully emphasize his point. “You...you suffer, Moses. You suffer a lot. It’s hard. It hurts.” He used his other hand to press against the countertop, pushing himself to a seated position. “It’s okay, not being okay sometimes, Moses.” 

Moses opened his mouth again to protest. But Christopher’s lips were already upon him.

Archelaus expected to witness a long, passionate kiss, to perhaps see them fall upon each other and make love.

But abruptly, Moses pulled back, a hand over his lips. His shoulders shook, though Archelaus soon realized that what he had mistaken for sobs was actually laughter.

“You need to stop biting my tongue, kitten,” Moses giggled, dropping his hand from his mouth and gently ruffling it through Christopher’s hair.

“Why? Fun.”

“Because it hurts, you goose.” Moses brushed the tip of his nose against Christopher’s. “Your oral fixation is getting out of hand.”

“I like oral.”

Moses helped guide Christopher back down, letting him lay against the clean folded towel, then taking the damp cloth and rubbing it along his thighs again. “I know you do.”

Christopher’s tone had seemed neutral to Archelaus’ ears. But Moses’ was unmistakably flirtatious. And, with the signs of Moses’ playfulness, Christopher’s own was suddenly impossible to unsee.

This wasn’t what they were meant to be doing. Christopher should have worn his filth as a badge of honor until the end of the evening. Moses should have been putting his everything into entertaining. Archelaus supposed he’d have to punish them both for it.

And maybe he would. Probably he would.

Common sense indicated he should have left the security room and gone to the staff kitchen instead, stopped this before it commenced any further and begun a punishment right now. He could use several implements within that very room itself, in fact. So many objects which could be used to break them open, break them apart. To make the bleeding on Christopher’s thighs seem paltry in comparison.

Moses’ fingers skittered over Christopher’s stomach. And Christopher giggled.

And Archelaus forgot how to breathe for a few seconds. 

One little sound, and he forgot how to inhale.

It would be easy to forget that Christopher had dimples. He certainly never smiled around his father. He’d been a quiet baby, serious, and though Archelaus had teased Lucifer about knowing his potential when he’d been born, the truth was it had been Chrissie who’d captivated him from infanthood on. His expressions were so stiff, so calm, his tone so deadpan and soft. It was hard to think he was capable of hurting, of feeling anything at all.

But here he was, captured on camera. Loving. Laughing.

His eyes had closed, his lips turned up, and, indeed, cheeks dimpled. Rosy. Happy. The sound was more breath than sound, but it was unmistakably a laugh.

A laugh for Moses and Moses alone.

Archelaus was the interloper. But that fact only compelled him to keep watching. To learn more about his precious child before he had to properly fixate on punishments and etiquette and tradition.

Right now, just watching his son laugh was enough.

He hadn’t realized Christopher was ticklish. He’d certainly tried to tickle him himself in the past, but he’d never gotten so much as an amused exhale. 

The feeling inside him wasn’t quite jealousy, though there was something heavy about the weight in his stomach. 

Moses’ fingers stilled, and he replaced them with his lips, smoothing kisses over Christopher’s stomach. Christopher took advantage of the position to reach up, both hands cupping one of Moses’ breasts. He pressed up against it, then released, and giggled again, another giggle, just at the sight of him bouncing for him.

Moses laughed against him, his teeth this time being the ones to dig in. He nibbled at Christopher’s stomach then lifted his head just enough to rest his chin against him, smiling up at him. “You’re silly, you know that?”

“You.”

Moses wrinkled his nose in mock-objection. “I don’t think so.”

One hand squeezing Moses’ breast now, Christopher’s other moved to poke one finger against his nose. “You.”

Moses tilted his face up, kissing his fingertip. Christopher didn’t giggle this time, but he was smiling, if only for a moment. It was a small expression, but genuine. 

“You make me so happy, Christopher,” Moses said, the words somewhat muffled by the finger against his lips. He parted his lips, taking his finger in and softly sucking on it a moment. He released, moaning faintly in surprise as Christopher pinched his nipple. “Even if you are a pervy teenage boy.”

“Big boobs make me stupid.”

Moses snorted. “I thought you preferred ass.”

“I do. Can’t reach.”

“Poor baby.” Moses stood at the end of the island. He grabbed Christopher’s thighs, gently pulling him down towards the edge. His kisses landed against his stomach again, Christopher’s hands no longer on him, but instead gently clutching the edges of the counter. Another set of kisses pressed against Christopher’s thighs, the skin mostly cleaned now, though Archelaus imagined they still tasted unclean, with no soap used to aid in his brief scrubbing. “I’ll make up for it.”

“Trust you.” Christopher said softly. “But isn’t it nasty?”

“Isn’t what nasty?”

“Taste.”

Moses grinned, tongue snaking from his mouth and slithering up Christopher’s inner thigh. Archelaus could see Christopher’s cock begin to harden. “Well, I can be a little nasty myself.”

“Yes,” Christopher agreed solemnly. “You’re a freak.”

Moses laughed, pushing Christopher’s leg open just a little further, to kiss the crease where his leg met his body. He paused against him and, Archelaus suspected, he was breathing in the scent of his body. “Guilty as charged.”

Christopher pet Moses’ hair. “Love.” He seemed unsatisfied with giving the single word, clearing his throat softly, then clarifying. “You. I love you.”

Moses’ flirtatious tone softened as he looked up at him. “I love you too.”

His hand gingerly wrapped around Christopher’s cock. It covered it completely, though Archelaus could imagine exactly how it must look, how it must feel to Moses. The powerful way it seemed to throb despite being such a tiny, delicate thing.

Christopher tried to lift himself, but Moses softly kissed his hips. “No, sweetie, no, just lay back and let me take care of you, alright?”

“Kay,” Christopher agreed. His fingers tapped about against the edges of the island a moment, then finally fell still as Moses gently squeezed his hand. He drew his hand back, then rocked forth again. Rubbing him. Squeezing him. Gliding against him and leaving Christopher panting very faintly, though his expression remained one of quiet concentration rather than ravenous bliss.

“Can’t tell if wet or just messy,” Christopher finally broke the panting silence after a few minutes of being touched.

Archelaus’ own cock throbbed within his pants. He briefly ran his palm over the front of himself, then brought his hand up to rest against the desk, folding them together to try to resist the urge to self-satisfy. Not yet, at least. 

He glanced at Christopher’s cunt, perhaps at the same time as Moses began to assess it. It was a fair point for Christopher to make, he decided. Perhaps what he was feeling was arousal, but already a sizable puddle of cum and blood dripped from inside him, pooling in a filthy puddle against the island, against the surface that the staff used for preparing meals. 

Perhaps that reminder of the purpose of that room should have disgusted Archelaus. Instead it made him chuckle softly to himself.

“That must be very distracting,” Moses said, voice husky, eyes raising slowly from Christopher’s cunt to his dark eyes. “Perhaps I should finish cleaning you up.”

Christopher’s lips twitched briefly at the corners, briefly turning down, before he steadied himself back into quiet acceptance. “...if you must.” His eyes moved over to the abandoned damp dish towel, obviously waiting for Moses to stop touching him and instead continue mopping him up.

Moses kept his hand around Christopher’s cock, giving it a gentle squeeze, as he draped himself almost protectively over him. He leaned in, adjusting, tilting his head, until he had his face buried between Christopher’s legs, mouth nestled underneath the cock he was stroking, opened lips caressing his cunt with a composed sort of tenderness.

Christopher’s body twitched against the counter, eyes briefly widening. His hand rested against the back of Moses’ head. “Dirty,” He said, an attempt at a warning, perhaps, though the way his legs spread also proved how little he cared to stop Moses if he truly wanted to pursue this depraved route.

Moses’ tongue, Archelaus thought, was a pretty shade of pink, a confectionary shade, as he gently worked it into the folds of his brother’s body. The two teens seemed to shiver in unison, Moses’ eyes peeking open and glancing up for a moment, before closing once more, tongue moving into him, as his hand provided friction over his length.

His own body rutted, just slightly, against the edge of the island, as though searching for the perfect source of friction to unassumingly satisfy himself. 

Moses licked and sucked and kissed and fucked Christopher with his mouth, moaning against and into him. And it was messy. Even from this camera angle, Archelaus could see how messy it was, the outer edges of Moses’ mouth painted in the cum of god knew how many men, lips twinged pink with Christopher’s own torn flesh. Moses worked as a salve though, easing the agony with as much tenderness as he could muster.

And everyone knew he was full of tenderness.

Christopher shuddered against the island, eyes closing, the hand that wasn’t in Moses’ hair squeezing and releasing the edge of the counter, his toes moving in a similar rhythm as well. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release. Archelaus couldn’t tell if it was in time with Moses’ movements, or if it was a rhythm he’d mapped out for himself, but regardless, it was a beautiful sight to behold. He just looked like he was enjoying it so much.

And, Archelaus thought, his beautiful boy deserved it. He deserved to enjoy himself. Even if doing so in the middle of the party was against the rules, against the very foundations of the family.

Archelaus would still have to punish them both. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be proud too. That he couldn’t take pleasure in knowing that Christopher was feeling good right now.

Moses rocked himself against the edge of the island, rutting and humping the hard material with nothing short of desperation. Until, just as suddenly, he stopped, slipping his free hand down between his own legs, back of his hand pinned against the island, fingers pointed inward. He bumped his hips forward again, two fingers poised perfectly to slip inside himself. He fucked himself upon his own hand like that, while the other worked its way against his brother.

Christopher didn’t seem to notice Moses’ movement, his own body remaining mostly still, aside from the occasional quiver. He wasn’t quite vocal, though his breathing was ragged, strained. “Moses,” He mumbled his name at one point, licking his lips.

Moses pulled his mouth away, filth dripping down his chin. “I know,” He murmured, kissing his cunt, then lifting his hand just a little, just enough to kiss his cock as well. He quickly took the length of him back into his hand, squeezing, stroking. “I know. You’re doing so good. Cum for me, okay? Can you cum for me, Christopher? You’re doing so good.”

Moses took a moment to lick his lips clean, swallowing without so much as a grimace, and then he was burrowing into Christopher’s cunt again, licking and tasting and loving. So much fucking love. 

Archelaus’ pants felt entirely too tight. His clothes were entirely too constricting. He loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, but refused to allow any further release.

The opposite of his sons, who were after nothing but release.

Christopher was so quiet, shuddering softly, his legs gently squeezing against Moses’ cheeks for just a moment. He rolled his hips up for just a moment, before perhaps remembering Moses’ words compelling him to hold still, or perhaps simply feeling too pained to continue it on his own. Regardless, he fell still again, panting weakly as Moses continued to lick at him. He stared down between his own parted legs, watching the way Moses worked over him.

Moses seemed to only last a few moments longer before he was shuddering around himself, gasping against Christopher’s cunt, then turning his face to moan against his thigh instead. 

When he pulled his lips away, he’d left a crude lipstick mark of blood and cum against Christopher’s leg. Moses wasted no time in using the flat top of his tongue to lick it away. He licked his lips after, then carefully wiped his chin, only to lick up the back of his hand as well. Cleaning himself, not just of Christopher, but of all those who had been inside him all throughout the party.

As he did so, he pulled his fingers out of himself, casually wiping the wetness of himself off on his own thigh. 

And then both of Moses’ hands were holding Christopher’s face. Moses strained upward, using his height to lean against the island, over Christopher’s body, kissing his neck as it was where his face reached at this angle. He cradled Christopher’s face, breathing against him, then finally moving, pulling back to walk around, to the side of the island now, to caress Christopher’s cheeks and kiss his face. He kissed both cheeks, before he finally kissed his lips.

During meals, Christopher would spit out vegetables and anything he deemed a bad texture. Yet when it came to kissing his brother, who’d just sucked the semen out of his cunt, he didn’t even flinch.

Incredible.

They kissed for several long moments, pausing between kisses just to caress each other, Christopher’s own hands raising to stroke Moses’ hair, and his face, and his shoulders, and his back.

His hands strained down his back, and it took Archelaus a moment to understand that he was trying to reach Moses’ ass. Unable to do so, Christopher simply patted Moses’ lower back a little, then hugged him close.

“Don’t wanna go back to the party,” Christopher admitted softly.

“I know,” Moses said. He kissed the tip of his nose. “I know. But we have to.”

“I know.” Christopher leaned back against the towel which had been fashioned into a pillow. “But not yet.”

“Not yet,” Moses agreed.

“...but soon, right?”

Moses hesitated, glancing up. Archelaus guessed he was looking at a clock, perhaps trying to calculate how long they had before their absence would be noted.

Something about that made him feel almost bad for having caught them right from the beginning. But why should he feel bad for being observant? A loving father had to keep track of his offspring. Especially during a family event such as this.

He’d have been lucky himself to grow up with a father so attentive, so devoted. 

There was no need to feel anything but joy at the honor bestowed upon himself, that he’d be able to punish these two later for their indiscretions.

Still, seeing Moses check the time and try to run the math to ensure safety for his brother...it was almost tragic, wasn’t it? Knowing they were doomed, while they thought they still had a pocket of safety. A sort of dramatic irony, perhaps. 

“Soon,” Moses conceded. “But not yet.”

Christopher tried to scoot over. “Lay with me.”

“I’m too big,” Moses laughed.

“Lay with me.”

“You can say it all you want, sweetie, but I’m still too big.”

“No.”

Moses glanced at the island, and once again Archelaus could imagine him running the numbers for it. 

“I don’t think-”

“Please?”

And god knew Moses could never say no to an earnest plea. Archelaus smiled even before Moses knew he was doomed to obey.

Moses sighed, setting his hands against the ledge, then hopping up. His ass rested against the island first, before he swung his legs up. They dangled off the edge, as he scooted himself up flush against Christopher’s side, laying his head down against the counter beside him. Christopher turned his face towards him, eyes steadily closing, lips pressing closer.

Moses must not have gotten a very good balance, because his body began to slip back the same direction it had started. His arms latched around the first surface they could find, which just happened to be Christopher.

They tumbled over the edge, Moses landing on the kitchen floor on his back, with Christopher crashing down on top of Moses’ chest.

Archelaus suspected the live music would have masked most of the sound from the party goers, and even on the camera, the sound wasn’t nearly as loud as Moses’ reaction made it seem. Moses’ eyes were wide, horrified and confused, his hands patting desperately over Christopher’s body.

Archelaus didn’t have time to panic for himself, already taking in the way Christopher was blinking and looking around from this new position in curious detachment. He was okay. They were both okay. It really wasn’t too great of a fall and, besides, Christopher’s muscles were likely already so knotted and aching that a simple fall wasn’t going to cause any additional harm.

Moses certainly wasn’t thinking that way though. “Oh, oh I knew I was too big! Oh...oh, Christopher, are you okay? Are you...are you hurt? Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Okay,” Christopher murmured, kissing Moses’ chin. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“I...that’s not important.”

“Important to me.”

Moses looked ready to protest, only to wriggle his nose a little as Christopher kissed the tip of it.

“Okay?”

“I’m okay,” Moses said. 

Archelaus wondered if that were actually true, now that he was fully reflecting on the fall. The full weight of both boys had crashed into Moses, after all, his own body weight slamming into the ground, and Christopher’s sandwiching down on top of him. His head had almost certainly bounced onto the ground. And given the bruises he’d already suffered, and the way he’d been fucked in every end, repeatedly, for the past several days…

Archelaus couldn’t help but marvel at the resiliency of his son. Still, eventually even the most resilient substances snapped if they were put under too much pressure.

Did he want to lighten the load then on Moses, or did he want to keep stacking more on top of him?

It was another puzzle in the endless pile of conundrums this damned birthday in particular had presented him with.

“Liar?”

“I’m not lying. I’m okay.” Moses assured Christopher, sitting up and cradling Christopher in his lap. He rocked him gently against his chest.

Christopher’s hands swooped down, scooping underneath Moses’ seated body. Moses’ body jerked upward in surprise, startled, and then he was laughing.

“And I see your way of checking if I’m alright is with inappropriate pinching?”

“Yes.”

“You little vixen,” Moses slipped his fingers into Christopher’s sides again. Christopher’s legs wrapped around Moses’ waist for support, a few more breathy giggles stolen from him.

Archelaus smiled. They’d be returning to the party soon, he was certain of it. Moses’ calculations would have been correct, after all, if it weren’t for Archelaus happening to look in their direction at the exact right moment.

Deciding on a punishment could wait for later. And, he decided as he turned away from the monitors and rose from the chair, he could at least let them have two or three minutes of genuine privacy today.

He glanced down at the front of his own pants, the obvious sign of his own returned arousal. Yes. Some privacy for his boys was allowed for now. Lucifer could rest. Moses and Christopher could love each other. All of it was okay for the moment. Especially since Archelaus needed to figure out the best way to take care of this particular bit of inconvenience.

It was a good thing he had one more son.

The music had slowed as Archelaus stepped into the ballroom. He watched as mothers slow danced with their sons, hands on their children’s asses to keep them pressed close, uncles fondling their nephews in rhythm to classical rhythms. A few continued their earlier debauchery, feasting on food and flesh alike, with little attention paid to the soundtrack of the evening.

Christian was dressed once more, though his shirt was untucked. Why he tended to pull his clothes back on, especially on the final day of parties, between acts of sexualization, Archelaus certainly didn’t know. Maybe someday he’d sit him down and ask him, pry into that pretty little brain and figure out what made it tick.

Right now wasn’t the time.

Christian’s eyes shifted around, likely seeking out his siblings. Archelaus wasn’t sure if he was looking for his own personal comfort or if he was searching to ensure that they were alright. It was strange, if endearing, how they all seemed to gravitate towards each other, even in the midst of the worst of it.

Christian used to be closer with some of his cousins too, Archelaus remembered abruptly. He glanced about at some of the smaller children, who looked at Christian with as much fear and bitterness as they looked at the other adults, and wondered how that must feel for his son. Did it make him feel proud, to command such intimidation?

Did it make him feel sad?

Shamed?

Archelaus could have looked into his own conflicted feelings in his youth, but reflecting on himself was proving too painful to continue. No. He didn’t want to prod at his own masochistic wounds right now. He wanted to satisfy himself, and bond with his eldest.

Sliding up behind him, he felt Christian stiffen as he wrapped both arms around him from behind. Christian certainly wasn’t a small boy, though he was thin, but Archelaus easily rested his chin atop his head. 

Archelaus hadn’t reached his own full height until his mid twenties. He suspected Christian hadn’t finished growing either. It made him feel warm, thinking about his once sickly boy growing big and imposing.

And yet still so frail in his arms.

“Father, are you drunk?” Christian asked dully as Archelaus pressed the fullness of his body flush against him, the hardness of his cock nestling against the small of his back. 

“And if I am, what of it?” It wasn’t as though intoxication or the lack thereof would influence whether he fucked his son. This was a party. This was Christian’s birthright. He kissed the top of Christian’s head, breathing in the sweat and shampoo scent of every dark strand. “But no. I’m not drunk. I’m just so proud of you.”

He felt him squirm, though he didn’t attempt to actually break contact. “Proud?” he echoed.

“Yes. You’ve grown up admirably, Christian. You’re going to make a wonderful Godhead.” The sentimentality simply wouldn’t do. Archelaus slipped his hands around him, pressing them flat against his stomach. He slipped them down, caressing Christian’s thighs, then using one hand to cup his groin. He squeezed him, outlining the softness of him with his fingers curiously. He’d felt so good in his hand the night before his birthday, vulnerable in his bathroom.

There was something thrilling too about touching him here, openly fondling his eldest in a ballroom with their family. With his subjects. Someday, Christian would rule all of them himself, but they’d still have lingering memories of this, of how vulnerable he’d once been. 

How many still remembered Archelaus as the trembling little boy with the too thick thighs and plump lips and heavy tears?

Squeezing Christian just a little harder than he intended, he released him finally, only to spin him around. He took one of Christian’s hands, while his other pressed against his hip. Obediently, Christian’s free hand rested against his father’s shoulder, looking up at him without quite making eye contact.

The music was too compelling. Archelaus glanced at the band for a moment, the violins and cellos, the artistry of the conductor’s arm movements, and then looked at his son. Christian’s frown was deep, his eyes falling down to focus on his father’s tie--checkered blue today as opposed to striped red.

“I suppose you have something to say about my attire as well,” Archelaus teased. Moses’ words from the first day continued to roll through his mind. It wasn’t that it bothered him. It was just an interesting viewpoint.

“Why?” Christian glanced up as Archelaus began to lead them in a dance. Christian’s movements were precise, articulate, mindful. Archelaus had seen him dance with Moses before, how they’d trade off in who would lead, how they’d dip each other, how Christian would struggle and fail not to smile. “I see nothing wrong with how you’re dressed.”

“Would you say if you did?”

“To your face? Unlikely.”

Archelaus chuckled. “That’s fair.” He could remember teaching Christian to dance--he and Lucifer both, as small boys. Lucifer had been so much more excited, but it had been Christian who’d taken to it, who’d naturally excelled at exuding grace and dignity with every movement. They’d squirmed so miserably when Archelaus had decided to use them after the lessons, Christian frowning as Lucifer sniffled pitifully, but the dancing itself, Archelaus was only just now realizing, had been a pleasant memory worthy in its own right.

It was important to pass on these traditions. It was all they had in the end. This was what their family was made of, traditions, legacies, rules and regulations and laws and intricate expectations. 

Archelaus squeezed Christian’s hip and felt him wince under him. It wasn’t unusual for the children to collect bruises there, after all, and Christian had always marked so easily. He loosened his grip despite himself, smiling down at him.

“Soon you’ll be having your first child.” Archelaus moved along the dancefloor with his son. “You’ll get to know exactly how it feels yourself, watching them blossom at these engagements.”

“You assume I’m going to keep this system in place.” It was a bold statement, undercut just slightly by the way Christian’s hand shook against his father’s shoulder. His other hand clenched against Archelaus’. Archelaus stroked his thumb over his fingertips. “Moses and I have plans.”

“Plans? And what sorts of plans are those?”

“Things are going to be different.”

“Is that so?”

Christian looked off to the side, his eyes flickering around. Almost certainly looking for Moses. Archelaus almost eased his mind by explaining where he was, but decided it was best, for the sake of future punishments at the very least, to keep him in the dark. That and it was just so lovely to see him stress about his whereabouts. “Yes. I’m not you.”

“And I wasn’t my father, either. Yet these things just have a way of lining up. It’s our heritage. Destiny.” He dipped Christian abruptly, leaning him back in time with the music.

Christian gasped, lips parted, eyes, wide as he looked up at his father. His face was flushed in his surprise, his hold tightening to ensure he wasn’t dropped. Archelaus wanted to reassure him that of course he wouldn’t let him go, that for now he was safe in these arms.

But he said nothing of the sort, instead taking his time to admire him, before bringing him back up. Christian shuffled closer, both of his arms wrapping around his father’s neck, as his father pressed both of his hands against Christian’s lower back. He swayed side to side with him, stooping in so his lips were pressed against his son’s ear.

“Nothing changes. The moment you kill me, you’ll ensure your fate. You can’t expect changes to your garden when you’re using the same fertilizer as the generations that came before you.”

Christian’s fingers brushed against the nape of Archelaus’ neck. “Who says I’m going to kill you?”

“So you’d rather die by my hand? A cowardly position. What will become of your brothers, your Bride, in your absence?”

“I never said I was going to die, either.”

“How cute. Are you growing sentimental towards your old man, my precious fawn?” He drew back, looking Christian in the eyes.

Christian’s expression was hard, eyes brimming with hatred.

...Archelaus thought of his own father. There were fates worse than death.

His cock throbbed.

“What do you intend on doing with me?”

Christian’s face softened, though it seemed to be more out of playful amusement than affection. “Why would I ever answer that? Maybe I’ll kill you. Maybe Moses and I have considered alternatives. Maybe you’ll wish for death by the time I’m done. Maybe-”

“You’re so beautiful.”

Christian sputtered, his brief soliloquy of bravado and potential revenge cut off with three simple words. It wasn’t Archelaus’ intention to cut him off, but it had needed to be noted. How impossibly lovely his features, how sharp his eyes. He placed one hand against Christian’s cheek, feeling him shake, reverting so simply back to his childhood with one intimate touch.

His other hand slid down to cup his ass. How could he not?

“Why’d you go so quiet?” Archelaus mused. “Surely you know you’re beautiful.” He brushed his thumb over Christian’s lower lip. “Your Bride calls you beautiful all the time--a princess, I believe he calls you?”

“Don’t,” Christian said softly, his lips moving against his father’s thumb in the process.

“Perhaps we could reach a compromise,” He glanced up, seeing his wife across the room. She’d made an admirable companion, but it’d be an interesting gambit. He kissed Christian’s forehead, lingering against him as he murmured, “Moses may call you a princess, but I could make you my Queen. And then, well, then you really could say you’ve changed the outcome of this family.”

Christian’s skin was already beginning to prickle with sweat. Archelaus squeezed his ass. “What nonsense are you talking about now?”

“I could dispose of your mother. Lilith is a fine woman, but things really have grown mundane. And you could take her place. Mother to your brothers, Bride to your father. You’d have power, without having to dirty your hands, without having to continue heir lessons.”

“Absolutely not.” Christian’s voice was sharp, the horror at the proposition distorting his normally cool facade. He pulled back, not quite out of his father’s grip, but at least away from his lips. His eyes flickered over his face, searching, seeking comprehension, his terrified, offended face abruptly going lax with understanding even before Archelaus began to laugh. “You’re joking.”

“Of course I’m joking! I didn’t raise you all these years just to dash all of that away on a small kink of mine. Can you imagine?” He chuckled, shaking his head a little. “No no, if any of you children were to become my second in life Bride, it would be little Chrissie.”

“You-”

“I won’t. Not that I owe you any sort of reassurance. But it’s too late to shake things up that way. Or at least, I’ve grown too complacent in my old age.” He laughed softly. “Perhaps retirement would be a nice alternative. Take my youngest out to one of our cabins, off the grid, until the elements consume us.”

“Or, you know, you could just rent a condo and take up Sudoku.”

“I don’t care for number puzzles, Christian. The numbers always have a way of mixing themselves.”

Ah. This time it was his son joking, wasn’t it?

Clever boy. Archelaus leaned in, resting his forehead against Christian’s.

“There is no retirement in this life, from this family. You know that. I know that. But that doesn’t mean you have to be so angst-ridden about it. Goodness, was I so full of misery at your age? Children these days are just so emotive.”

The song began to pick up tempo, or perhaps a new score had been chosen entirely. He released his hold on Christian, petting his cheek once again.

“You’re a lovely dancer. I think you’ll enjoy the parties from the other side.”

“I’m not-”

“You’ll learn to enjoy them. We all learn. Childhood is temporary, and incomprehensible once you’re out of it, you’ll find your empathy lies elsewhere once you’ve transitioned out of meal and into a consumer yourself.” He smiled. “I mean, truly, you’re no longer a child as it stands. Chronologically, certainly. Psychologically. The way you immediately moved onto your twin at the first opportunity.”

“That...that was different-”

“The way you laid claim to Moses.”

“I-”

“You’re just like me.”

“Never,” Christian insisted softly. “Never,” He repeated, folding his arms over his chest.

“Don’t stand like that, it’s very unbecoming,” Archelaus lightly scolded. He smiled as Christian dropped his arms, reaching over and smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt. “Come. All this party I’ve had to watch you pouting as others tasted you, and I still haven’t had a good chance at you since you were...what was it? Thirteen?”

Christian’s shoulders slouched. “You’re going to fuck me.” The statement was dull, unsurprised and displeased.

“Not in front of everyone,” He assured him, expecting relief. 

Christian simply sighed. “Alright.” His hand was limp as Archelaus took it, carefully leading him through the entryway, past the empty swaying cage, past the few guests attempting to smoke out of sight of Archelaus or his security or his staff. His steps hesitated a moment at the sight, before deciding to leave it. He collected faces, fit them to memory for retribution later, and then slipped into the main hall of endless doorways.

A guest room simply wouldn’t do this time.

Archelaus took him up the stairs, climbing flight after flight until Christian earned that familiar wheeze in his lungs. As they reached the last set of steps, Archelaus scooped him into his arms. He was heavier, fit less familiarly in his arms, but he still had a well-remembered heft, a limp sort of bitter compliance.

He took him into his own personal suite, past the bed, into the attached bathroom. He stood Christian in the tub, fully dressed, then turned away.

“Clean yourself thoroughly. Put on my robe when you’re through and join me in my bed.” He gestured towards the robe hanging from a hook behind the door, then smiled. “Unlike your brother, I want to taste you and only you, and not all of those who claimed you for the evening.”

“What?”

Oh, right, Christian wouldn’t know the reference. He hadn’t witnessed the security camera footage. It hardly mattered. Archelaus tilted Christian’s chin upward, kissing his lips with featherlight pressure.

And then he stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It didn’t take long for him to hear Christian start the water, but he chose not to focus on what sort of bathing habits his eldest might be engaging in. At least not for now. Later tonight, perhaps, while laying fully separated from his own Bride, he might think about it, the water rushing down Christian’s body, the way he scrubbed himself raw, the concentrated look on his face as he tried not to think about his impending rape at the hands of his own father. 

No, right now he needed to focus on himself.

Archelaus hung up his clothes as he removed them, carefully placing his tie in the appropriate drawer, casually toeing his shoes into the closet. He hummed to himself as he undressed, finally slipping out of his silken underwear--those were placed in the hamper rather than replaced in a drawer--and taking a seat on the edge of his bed. He glanced over at the bathroom door, briefly listening to the trickle of water, then leaning back to stare up at the ceiling.

He touched himself casually, stroking himself in slow, even tugs. He thought of Chrissie, of Moses, of Lucifer. He thought of power, of the party, of legacy. He thought of the past and the future alike, how it all was much of the same, yet so mysterious in its intricate details. 

The bathroom door opened, steam spilling into the comparably chillier room. Christian clutched the oversized robe shut with one hand, his head downturned, water droplets trickling from his black hair. Walking forward, eyes still facing the ground, he stood before Archelaus.

Archelaus eased Christian’s hands away, pulling them from the robe, setting them at Christian’s sides. They balled back up into fists once they were drawn away, the gesture adorably obstinate. He grabbed one of his wrists again, pulling his fist forward, kissing each knuckle individually. He repeated the action with the other hand.

It did nothing to make Christian relax.

The robe opened in the center, leaving a barren strip of pale skin exposed to Archelaus’ eyes. He reached out, stroking his index finger down the center of Christian’s chest. Up and down over him, soft skin and brittle bone. Christian shivered faintly under his touch. Using the same finger, Archelaus pressed against the robe, spreading the division. Pushing, until he was guiding the robe off one pale shoulder. He watched the material slip down Christian’s arm, collecting at the wrist, held up by his fist, before finally falling off. 

He repeated the action with the other side, watching Christian very faintly shrug his shoulder to aid in the loss of cloth. His son blushed, as the material slithered down his body, his arms, his back, finally pooling down at his feet.

Both remained there for a moment, frozen together, Christian standing, Archelaus seated upon the bed, both completely exposed to each other.

Christian finally raised his eyes, defiant, locking his gaze with his father’s. Archelaus expected him to look away, but he kept his eyes fixed upon him. How he used to punish him, for his inability to hold eye contact, much as Archelaus’ father had punished him in his own youth. 

They stared at each other, long and hard, and Archelaus knew he’d break it himself if nothing happened.

He collected Christian’s face in both hands, pulling him down towards him, his own head tilted up to catch his mouth into a kiss.

An angry poem, the clash of teeth and lips and tongue. Christian shook horrendously, so much that Archelaus struggled a moment to get his mouth to open, but once he parted, he was in, tongue filling his mouth with precision and memory and captivation.

Christian always tasted so clean. Part of him wanted to mess him up for it, to just make him a little less immaculate. Archelaus tangled one hand into his hair, snagging into the wet locks, rustling them around. He felt Christian huff against him and pulled back, smiling playfully up at him.

“That’s it. Come here. Sit with your father a moment.”

Christian tried to sit on the bed, but Archelaus grabbed him by the hips, tugging him over to sit his pert ass against his thigh. Christian balanced against his father’s lap, forced to wrap his arms around his neck to keep from falling, knees tucked together. His limp cock delicately rested between his legs, and Archelaus found his gaze straying to it. His own was unapologetically erect, though for now he was fine with ignoring it.

He still needed to decide exactly what he wanted to do. Relearning all of Christian’s charms would prove most satisfying. A perfect end to a well done party.

And, certainly, afterwards he’d still have to go back out, greet his guests one final time, thank them for coming, see them out. But by all means, Archelaus knew that this was the moment his mind would catalogue as the climax. A fitting end. 

He cradled Christian’s face again, pecking his lips against him. Christian frowned, doing little to return the kisses, which only made Archelaus’ actions more frenzied, hungry.

Dropping one hand from his face, he rested his palm against his son’s thigh, softly gliding up and down against it. He pinched his skin lightly, smiling at the way Christian cringed at the action. “You don’t want this, do you?”

“What? What don’t I want, father?”

“This. What we have here.”

“You fucking me, you mean?”

“Always so crass,” Archelaus kissed his son’s neck. Christian tilted his head upward, and Archelaus imagined him playing word games in his head to try to distract himself. Perhaps conjugating verbs in one of the many languages he’d picked up.

His son really was a brilliant mind. Archelaus hummed pleasantly against him, nibbling softly at his throat. He slipped his hand between his tightly pressed legs, rubbing his inner thigh. His wedding band rolled about on his finger with the pressure of his legs surrounding his hand.

“Yes,” Archelaus said. “Me fucking you. You don’t want this, do you?”

“What’s the point of asking that?”

“Then you do want it?”

“Of course not.” 

“You hate me.” Archelaus said it cheerfully.

Christian didn’t bother to answer. 

“You hate me, but you don’t want to kill me. You’re a strange boy, Christian.”

“I never said I didn’t want to kill you,” He said. Archelaus kissed his Adam’s apple and felt him swallow, perhaps out of nervousness. “Suppose I do want to kill you. Suppose I want to end you right now.”

“Suppose you do.”

“But what would that prove?”

That he was ready. That was what it would prove. That Archelaus was obsolete and Christian was ready, poised and prepared, to take over the crown. That was exactly what it proved. The perfect succession.

Archelaus decided not to answer, though, instead continuing to paint kisses over Christian’s throat. 

Christian’s voice came out breathy. “It would prove that I’m just like you. You were right, I can’t expect to implement any changes if it all starts rotten. Everything needs to be undone. Everything. Moses says...a-ah-”

Archelaus’ hand slipped higher, until he was caressing Christian’s cock. He ran his fingers over his flaccid flesh, tracing every vein, every bit of soft skin, rolling his thumb over the head. He felt him twitch, felt him begin to react, and grinned against his neck.

He waited a few moments to see what Christian might say. But when nothing came, he squeezed his cock, and kissed the space where his jawline met his neck.

“What does Moses say?”

“He says...he says things can be different.”

“Yes, well, he’s adopted.” Archelaus took him completely into his hand, gliding to the base and squeezing, then tugging to the tip. Christian’s entire body shook. “He was tainted by outside influences from that silly little orphanage long before I could properly train him. He’s bound to have some silly ideas.”

“He’s not silly.” Christian’s voice was sharp.

It was dangerous to speak to Archelaus like that. They both knew it. 

Archelaus kissed him on the mouth, Christian’s lips soft and pliant. He worked his tongue between Christian’s lips, prying them open, tasting his teeth, tasting his tongue, tasting the hatred he wanted so badly to throw between them, the barriers he so desperately longed to build.

He was hard in his hand. Archelaus’ own cock throbbed in wonder at the sensation. 

“You’ll change nothing. Your ideas, his ideas, whoever’s ideas they might be, they’re foolish.” Archelaus leaned his forehead against Christian’s. “You’ll only hurt more the longer you hold onto them. I know you’ve built a lot of your personality on the premise that your upbringing was traumatic but, truly, everything I’ve done, the entire legacy of this family for centuries, all of it has built to this moment. To create you. And you should be grateful for that.”

Archelaus strummed his thumb over the tip of Christian’s cock. He felt him wriggle against his lap, and laughed again despite himself.

“Thank me, Christian.”

“Thank you, father.” There was nothing sincere in his voice. But Archelaus cared not about sincerity. He just needed to prove that the obedience was still in there.

“And kiss me. Kiss me as though your hatred is love. Make me feel how much you feel for me.”

Christian turned towards him. His legs spread, one lifting itself to swivel around, until he was straddling him. He scooted closer, purposeful, his cock pressing against Archelaus’, his knees resting against the bed and squeezing against Archelaus’ thighs. He placed his hands through Archelaus’ hair, then over his face, then finally settled against his shoulders.

His eyes flashed with animosity, lips pressed tight, serious, before he licked them. The way they glistened in the dim lighting made Archelaus ache against him. His eyes glanced down, staring at Archelaus’ mouth, as he sank forward. His chest pressed against his father’s for a moment, before he drew back, pushing his palms against his shoulders for a better angle.

The kiss was tender. Soft. His lips fluttered against him, then melted, easing into him, all taste and longing and gentle curiosity.

He thought about Christian as a child, as Christian’s tongue entered his mouth, as Archelaus pressed his own tongue back against him, resisting and pushing back. He’d been so serious. Studious. He hadn’t been the type to draw Archelaus pictures or tell him stories.

Archelaus had taught him Russian. They’d sat together in his study, and Archelaus had longed to fuck him, as Christian learned the alphabet and softly mouthed every unfamiliar sound as he traced his pencil around the page. “This is my favorite part of the day,” He’d said one day, abruptly, looking up at Archelaus with too much sincerity. 

How had Archelaus forgotten such a memory?

He sighed quietly, breaking the kiss. Christian hated him. He hated him in all the ways that only a boy who’d once wholly, devotedly loved their father could. He hated him too much to kill him, or perhaps Archelaus wasn’t quite grasping what it was that was holding Christian back. Maybe they weren’t the same. Maybe they never had been.

“Darling boy,” Archelaus said softly, just to hear Christian scoff, just to see him struggle not to roll his eyes. He held his face in both hands, stroked his cheekbones with his thumbs, and simply admired the way the blue in his eyes so clearly matched Archelaus’ own, yet seemed to be composed of light beams so completely foreign.

Archelaus lifted him out of his lap, laying him down against the bed. His wet hair left droplets against the pillowcase, as Archelaus hovered over him. He kissed his chin, and then his throat, kissing and biting and licking until he heard him whimper.

He placed a hand against his chest, just to feel his heartbeat rattle. He was scared. Oh, he held up such a beautiful facade of anger, of hate, but in the end, he was still the same frightened, sickly child.

Darling, darling boy.

Reaching Christian’s chest, he teased one nipple with his tongue, circling it, flicking it, then sucking it between his lips. He rolled himself down against him, grinding his cock against Christian’s leg just to keep him aware of where this was headed. He could be soft for now, but once he was inside him, once he was finally tearing into him, all softness was off the table.

Given the way Christian trembled, Archelaus wasn’t sure if his son would prefer the quickness of such violent violation or if he wanted to linger in the foreplay.

“Do you shake like this for Moses?” He said, as he switched over to the other nipple. He kissed it, feeling the hardness of the bud in the cool of the room.

“Don’t bring him up,” Christian pleaded softly. Archelaus glanced up at him, Christian’s eyebrows pinched together in quiet concern, his eyes turned up towards the ceiling, his lip trembling just faintly. His hands rested at his sides, balled into tight fists once again.

He was barely holding himself together. And Archelaus was determined to find whatever string he needed to tug upon to get him to come completely undone.

Biting his nipple, he pinched the other with his fingers. “I’m sure you did the first time,” He murmured. “The first time you let him dominate you. That’s what he does, isn’t that right? He’s so much younger than you, maybe it feels less statutory, to let him take control.”

“Stop.”

“Or perhaps you have some sort of masculinity failing. An heir submitting to his Bride. It’s an unhealthy precedent.” He sucked on his nipple for several long moments, delighting in the way Christian gasped and shivered underneath him.

“When he fucked you the first time, did it hurt? Was he careful with you? Lord knows you’re both aware of how much you’ve both suffered--because that’s what you consider it, isn’t that right? Suffering?”

“Father, please, please don’t-”

“How hard was he with you the first time? Was it a shock to the system? Did you treasure reclaiming the pain, the submission, with someone you loved?”

“Don’t-”

“Did he kiss you like you mattered? Not because you were the Godhead, but because you were his?”

“I-”

Archelaus crawled up his body, cupping his cheek in one hand. “Perhaps like this?”

Christian tried to turn his face away, but Archelaus kissed him before he could escape. They melded together, and he felt Christian sob against him, a soft little gasp for breath, a little explosion of tears and agony and terror and shame. Archelaus sucked on his lip, then released, looking over the flushed, miserable face of his eldest.

He reached down, between Christian’s legs, stroking his cock slowly.

“Someday, perhaps, you can be his. But until I take my last breath, there will always be at least a part of you that will always have been mine first. Remember that, Christian.”

Archelaus resumed kissing down his body. He kissed his nipples again as he passed them, then sank lower still. He took his time kissing his ribs, then down his stomach. Just beneath his belly button. Then along the pronounced bone of his pelvis. 

He considered blowing him. He truly did. Perhaps tasting Christian would prove a new high for both of them. Certainly he was clean, and Archelaus had implied tasting him earlier.

But he meant taste in a metaphorical light. He kissed his cock once, before he sat up, hand against him again, soft pets, his other hand briefly grasping himself and giving a few casual squeezes and strokes of his own.

“On your hands and knees, Christian.”

Christian rolled onto his stomach, as though grateful to be away from his touch. He lifted himself onto his palms, then his knees, perfectly settled against the mattress. Christian faced the headboard, his back rigid and straight, his wet hair trickling down the back of his elegant neck. 

Archelaus traced his finger over the pronounced bumps of his spine.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” He said suddenly. His finger slipped between the cleft of his ass, Christian tensing, as he glided his dry finger over him. He circled, then pressed the tip inside him, briefly sampling the long forgotten tightness of his body.

Good to see Moses hadn’t completely stretched him useless. Archelaus smiled a little at the thought, then allowed his tone to grow more serious again.

“I truly am proud of you. I meant that. And I love you. A father simply has obligations when it comes to bringing up their child in this family.”

He drew his finger back, squeezing his ass in two firm handfuls, then sat up onto his knees. He pressed on the small of Christian’s back, guiding him down a little lower on the bed, as the tip of his own cock brushed against his son’s ass.

“And I must admit,” He said, leaning down and kissing Christian’s shoulder blade. He felt the quiver of Christian’s body, wondering briefly if he’d plead for him to be gentle. No such pleas came, “That I am something of a degenerate when it comes to frightened little boys.”

“No shit,” Christian breathed. His fingers clenched against the sheets. “But I’m not a little boy anymore.”

“You’ll always be my little boy, sweetheart. I’m something of a sentimental fool when it comes to you little ones.” He gave a small swat to Christian’s ass.

And then he grasped himself, steadying himself, as he rubbed himself in circles against Christian. Teasing. Feeling him out. Without any sort of lubrication, it was almost certain to be a painful friction.

He shivered in excitement even before he began to push into him.

“Ah,” Christian breathed softly, the first half inch of his father’s cock poking into him.

The pressure was intense to be certain. Archelaus nearly wrenched himself back.

He’d fucked Christian when he’d been much smaller than this though. Much tighter. This certainly was nothing in comparison to that. But oh, for a moment he indulged in the memories. Thinking of him tiny, defenseless, fresh, innocent. There was such a small window in their lives when they possessed true innocence.

He squeezed Christian’s hips and pulled him backward, using Christian’s weight to ease him down against his cock.

The blankets strained against Christian’s grip. Archelaus sank in another few inches, feeling him quivering and shaking around him. 

“Nn,” The sounds Christian made were inarticulate, not exactly pained, more startled. Archelaus wondered if he was drifting in and out of memories too. He released hold of his hip with one hand, pulling his hair sharply. The sound he made in response was half gasp, half gurgle, his head snapping upward, staring up at the ceiling, as Archelaus gave a rough thrust of his body forward. Halfway in now.

Christian struggled for breath, Archelaus releasing his hair, instead hugging both arms around his midsection now, as he thrust forward a little deeper. A little more. The heat was shifting from unpleasant to intoxicating, and he burned with the need to bury himself completely inside him.

Forcing himself in just a little deeper, Archelaus marveled at how tight he could be after three days of partying. “You weren’t used much, were you?”

“Mostly my mouth,” Christian admitted. His words were slurred, an autopilot comprehension of the fact that he was being asked a question, and therefore needed to respond.

Mentioning his mouth seemed to compel Archelaus’ next actions. He finally gave one last push, completely sheathed in Christian’s body, as he wrapped a hand around his face. His fingers splayed over his lips, feeling the drool which had collected already, before he forced his fingers into his mouth. Christian cried out softly in surprise, jaw wrenched open, as Archelaus’ fingers filled his mouth.

He scratched the nails of his other hand over his body, then grasped his hip again. A familiar handle. He felt Christian’s teeth strain with the urge to bite down, felt his tongue flop around desperately, felt the skin of his cheek stretch under the pressure.

And he felt every internal muscle of his body rub against his cock as Archelaus drew back, easing himself out so much easier than he’d entered. 

The second thrust inward was smoother, Christian groaning pitifully as his body rocked against the bed. He drooled, the wetness leaking down Archelaus’ hand, down his wrist, down his forearm, the thick stickiness of it just the sort of messy he’d hoped to shake loose from his pristine eldest.

Archelaus wanted to fuck Christian forever. He wanted to tear him apart, to dissect him and find every bit of him that had yet to be touched, just to discover new ways to ruin him. He fucked him, harder, harder, stretching his jaw and his lips with his finger hold. His fingernails tore through Christian’s hip, leaving him bleeding down his outer thigh.

And, soon, blood began to glide Archelaus’ thrusts inside him. The smoothness certainly helped him move quicker, though Archelaus would have been lying if he said he didn’t miss the initial friction.

Still, there was nothing disappointing about fucking Christian. About reclaiming what had always been his.

The orgasm built slowly, bubbling in his guts and spilling out into the tips of his fingers and the very base of his toes. It electrified him, then traveled back into a pit, balling itself up once more, powerful, dangerous, before he felt it tear from him. He jerked himself forward, fucking Christian through it as he came inside him.

Christian whined against him, Archelaus’ fingers briefly pulling at his mouth, before finally growing lax. He was still thrusting, as though in pure muscle memory, as he rode through his orgasm, while he pulled his fingers from his mouth. He grasped Christian’s shoulder with his soaked hand, slowing, slowing, catching breath that suddenly felt too cold for his scalding lungs.

Archelaus collapsed over Christian’s back, Christian’s arms finally giving out, his body falling into the mattress. They both struggled to breathe, Archelaus rolling off of Christian’s bleeding, shaking body. He stared up at the ceiling, smiling in a daze.

Christian curled his knees towards his chest, facing away from Archelaus. Small. As though making himself small would somehow keep him safe. Maybe he was imagining Moses scooping him up, or maybe he was imagining himself holding onto Luci, or maybe he was praying that Christopher would never know his big brother to be so frail, or maybe a million other possibilities.

But Archelaus wasn’t done with him. Archelaus rolled on his side, facing Christian, and grabbing him to tug him around, to face him as well.

They stared at each other, panting, Christian’s face wet with tears and drool, mouth already beginning to swell.

Archelaus kissed him. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Christian didn’t bother to answer. Archelaus admired him, petting his face. “Happy birthday, my darling boy. I couldn’t have created a more immaculate heir.”

Christian opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, though he either thought better of it or simply lost the energy to continue, his mouth closing once more after.

Archelaus had to admit, he was too exhausted himself to engage in must back and forth himself. He took to stroking Christian’s damp hair instead, pausing suddenly to analyze the strands. Dark. Silky.

And one pesky glimmer of silver.

Archelaus eyed the grey hair, in a different spot than the hair he’d seen in Christian the other day, he was certain of it. Why, it looked like his dear boy had himself a bonafide outbreak. He thought of his own hair prematurely discoloring. 

So alike. Why did he question it? They were the same, he and his boy, he and his heir. They were all the same, all the Godheads down the line.

Christian winced as Archelaus tugged on it, a sharp pinch perhaps against his scalp, before the hair released from the follicle. Archelaus twirled it about between thumb and forefinger triumphantly, before holding it up close towards Christian to assess.

“Make a wish, birthday boy.”

The pressure of his exhale through his nose was enough to carry the strand from Archelaus’ fingers. For a moment, it fluttered between them, before the breeze carried it away. Archelaus considered what it was that Christian might possibly wish for, before deciding ultimately there was no point in truly pondering it.

After all, there was no room for wishes when destiny had been mapped out before either of them had even been born.

They’d follow their paths as scripted. And nothing Archelaus or Christian or Moses or any of them could do would change it.

They could wish all they wanted.

In the end, fate had already stained the Idolodulia family. And stains like that never truly came clean.


End file.
